No Country for An Honorable Man
by ofwingsandthings
Summary: As the crown prince, Gendry has grown up in a life without choice. But when he gets the chance to chose, he finds himself with a sea of consequences he could have never predicted. Suddenly, events spiral out of control and Gendry is forced to flee King's Landing alongside his impetuous bride to be, and now they must both decide what they truly want, and if it's each other.
1. After the Small Councile

**A/N: I'd like to preface this fix saying that I do not believe that either Arya nor Gendry would be well suited or want the iron throne in the canon verse of Westeros. That being said, I was intrigued with the idea of what they would be like if they were in that situation, and the idea of Gendry being a legitimate prince. Basically, this fic is me exploring whether, in this sort of setting, Arya and Gendry would ultimately want the throne, and I really can't say more because I don't want to spoil the whole entire thing. I also must warn you that I'm planing on working out more character development here, and I hope you guys can be forgiving because I am by no means a professional writer and have a lot to learn about. Characters will grow into themselves. That's all I'm going to say. ALSO: you might see (okay I know you'll see), some familiar scenes but they will play out differently than you've experienced before. My lovely beta April will make sure I don't stray too close to the bookverse. That being said, I sincerely hope you enjoy this. I'd like to thank the Jane Eyre and village soundtracks for inspiring me. Sidenote: dear GRRM, I'm sorry I know you hate fanfiction but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do when she has to wait five years between books. **

Gendry stepped from yet another council meeting feeling as he always did, and feeling weak for thinking so. Besides, what was the point in feeling this way anyway? What was the point of feeling that the Kingship would be too great a burden to bear when he must carry it no matter what he thought or felt? He was the crown prince, his father was the king, and as the eldest son, he was in line for the throne. Wishing otherwise was a useless folly. He was a man grown and more than able to carry the weight of the world upon his shoulders. His whole life had been spent preparing him for such a task, and there was no one more prepared than he.

"You look very pensive your grace."

Gendry spun around, caught off guard, yet again, by Lord Varys, who always seemed to be appearing from thin air and reading his very thoughts. A eunuch, everyone knew that of Varys, but that was not the reason he was not to be trusted. The thing was, though no man could be everywhere, Varys could. He knew everything. Every secret, every whisper, and sometimes it felt like every thought in Gendry's head.

"It was a serious meeting," Gendry allowed himself to say cautiously. Varys nodded in agreement.

"Very," he said, his arms folded together as he looked steadily at Gendry, an unreadable expression on his powdered face. "So serious that your father and Lord Stark had a troublesome quarrel."

"Not one that won't be fixed," Gendry said shortly.

"Hmm yes," Varys agreed. "The bonds of true friendship can never be broken over a moment of rashness. And, in this case, the King and Lord Stark are to be family within these few months. A reconciliation will follow soon, I am sure of it."

Gendry had nothing to say to this. He wondered why Varys was even talking to him. He rarely did, and it always made Gendry feel unsettled. His giggles. His ways. Everything set Gendry's skin to crawl.

"And what do you think your grace?" Varys asked. "About the Targareyan girl? Do you agree with the King?"

"Disagreeing with the King is treason Varys," Gendry said drily. "Everyone knows that."

"Always so serious," Varys giggled. "You take after your uncle Stannis in that respect, though you look so much like the King. The Queen must tell you that often."

Gendry gave Varys a wane smile. It was the very thing his mother hated about Gendry most, and Varys was bound to know that. Varys knew everything.

"Surely a conversation among friends would not be taken as treason," Varys said with a docile expression, but Gendry was not so sure.

"I respect my father's decision," he said firmly, and made to move away. Varys followed him.

"But is it the decision you would make, your grace?"

Gendry could not help what he felt, so he did not reply. That was answer enough.

"It is not," Varys said with knowing. "You would not see her murdered, then."

Gendry stopped and turned to face him, growing tired of whatever game they were supposed to be playing. He was never good at the kind of games that were played at court. He was much better with a hammer.

"What is it that you want, Varys?" He asked bluntly.

"Why, to know your opinion, your grace," Varys said, his eyes wide.

"What does it matter, what I think?" Gendry snapped with a scowl. Varys chuckled, and Gendry made note that it was not his usual giggle.

"You are going to be King one day," he pointed out, "surely you would agree that your opinion matters a great deal."

Gendry sighed. He felt like Varys was asking him something here, more than the question he was posing. So Gendry thought. He thought about what he would say before he said it, and then he cleared his throat.

"There is no denying that if Danaerys is pregnant, it is not happy news to me or my father," he said, choosing his words slowly. "But does she have to die simply because she is with child? It seems to me that we should never become murderers for the sake of our own self-preservation."

"Noble and well-chosen words, your grace," Varys said, nodding. "I think you will be a good and just king one day."

"I am glad you think so, Varys," Gendry said with a slight bow, though he did not feel any comfort from the spider's words. Besides, it was probably all lies anyway.

"You do not believe me," Varys said with his usual giggle, but his expression was serious. "But I think you have more power than you give yourself credit for. Use it, your grace."

Gendry felt uncomfortable. He hardly cared about the power he may or may not have had, and as for using it? He must be king one day, that was inevitable, but he was not about to play the game of thrones. Not more than he already had to.

"Excuse me, your grace."

Gendry looked from Varys to see a timid serving girl approaching him, very red in the face.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Your grace, it is your bride to be... Lady Arya... She's causing some upset... The Queen is most distressed..." The girl blushed feverishly and would not meet his gaze. Gendry sighed. Not again.

"Varys, I must take my leave of you," he said formally, bowing courteously. Varys did the same.

"Lady Stark is quite the fiery one, is she not your grace? She will make a very interesting Queen, to be sure," Varys giggled. Gendry grimaced. The last thing Arya wanted to be was Queen. She almost hated the idea as much as Gendry disliked being the future King.

Turning away from the council chamber, Gendry took quick strides to make it to Arya's chambers as fast as possible. Whatever it was, he was sure she was raising hell about it, and he was torn between feeling amused and irritated, especially after the very cryptic talk he had just had with Varys, who always set him on edge. As he went up the stairs, he could hear Arya's voice drifting from the room, and yet again, it sounded like a heated argument.

"-I will NOT! I refuse! This is _my_ wedding-"

"That it may be, but you are marrying the future king-"

"To hell with that! Get me out of this insufferable dress this instant!"

"Arya!"

Gendry paused, and then went in. Silence fell at the sight of him, but that did not quench the anger that crackled in the air. His mother, the Queen, turned to him, her face red and her eyes flashing with the fury of a lion ready to rip open the stomach of its foe. But Gendry's eyes were fixed on his Lady bride, and for a moment he was tongue tied, as he sometimes was in her presence, and felt incredibly stupid for it.

There was an awkward pause.

"Your grace."

It was Arya's older sister, Sansa that spoke first. Gendry jerked towards her in surprise, and she met his eyes, and then dipped into a low, polite curtsey. A pang of guilt went through him, as it always did when he was in her company, and he could almost hear his mother's snarl, _"she would have made an infinitely better Queen."_

"Lady Sansa," Gendry nodded. "What appears to be the trouble?"

Of course he knew the trouble right away. It was obvious. The wedding, the dress, Arya. She hated all of it, and his mother was determined to make sure the wedding went according to her plans, so naturally that made it all the worse. Even now, he could see the look of resentment his lady flashed towards him, and he sighed inwardly, trying to find the place within himself that was dull and calm so that he might defuse the situation.

"Lady Arya does not like her wedding dress," Cersei snarled, not bothering to hide the tone of malice in her voice. Arya glared.

"I cannot breathe," she snapped. "One would think that the bride falling over in a faint during the celebrations would cause a slight disruption to the wedding. Besides, it's hideous."

Cersei swelled furiously, and Sansa gave a little squawk as if to say 'oh Arya please.' But Arya would not hold her tongue. She never would. It was one of the things about her that was both infuriating and attractive. Her wildness. Even now, with the expression of the fury of winter upon her face that would bring most men to their knees only made Gendry stand stronger. He gave her a purposeful look.

"I think you look beautiful," he said earnestly. She did look beautiful, her long, wild hair in braids away from her curved neck, the fabric cutting down her back and spiraling away in a long train. But this was the wrong thing to say, and it only made her more cross.

"I will not wear it," she said to him. "You cannot make me."

Gendry felt the sting of her words. They did not quarrel often, in fact they got on rather well, but he always felt that there was a certain under current with all their interactions. A certain anger from her, because it was he that had put her here, in this dress, in this room, so far away from home and everything she wanted, and they both knew it. Again Gendry shifted and struggled to hold his own.

"Perhaps on further reflection you will think differently," he said dully. "But for now, I think it is best if we end the dressmakers' misery and let you return to normal clothing."

This hardly settled Arya, but she was beyond throwing more of a tantrum, and so she gave a sigh of reluctant admission, and this seemed to satisfy his mother. Only just though. Everything about Cersei's look told him that he was soft. No matter what he did, he would never be pleasing anybody.

Cersei shoved her way past him, not even looking at him or even giving Arya the proper and polite terms of leave. It was clear that she was furious, and it wouldn't be the last Gendry would hear of any of it. Sansa stood awkwardly, her eyes shifting from her sister to the prince, unsure of what to do.

"Thank you Sansa," Gendry said kindly, "if you wouldn't mind, I'd like a word with my future wife."

Arya raised her eyebrows but said nothing as she, along with several of her handmaidens holding onto her large dress, moved towards the screen so that she might change. Sansa nodded, curtseying, and then she too took her leave, relief at being able to escape yet another peril-some day evident on her face. As Arya disappeared behind the screen, Gendry let the air out of his lungs in a great, tired puff.

"If you are going to chastise me like a child, you might as well not bother," Arya's voice floated hotly from behind the screen. Gendry sighed again, taking off his cloak and draping it over a chair.

"You might try to be civil with her Arya," he said warily.

"Why?" She snapped. "She hates me. It's obvious. Why should we pretend?"

"Because it's courteous," Gendry said, pacing.

"Courteous," Arya snorted.

"You are going to be Queen one day," Gendry recited tiredly, "you might try it once or twice. You might even like it."

"I am who I am," Arya said bluntly. "And since it is you who has made the choice, you might as well take me as I am or you should have chosen Sansa."

Gendry groaned.

"Must you?" He asked.

Arya strode from behind the screen, tying a robe about her waist. She had the good grace to look ashamed and apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "I should not have said that. It was hurtful of me to do so."

Gendry did not say anything, but the words that he wanted to were there. That it was he who was sorry, that had he known, when he was just sixteen years of age, what a decision he was making, he would have never made it. That he wished with all his heart that she loved him and knew that she never would. That he never meant to trap her as he had. That all he had wanted to do was follow his heart, even if it was wrong. But all those things he did not say because she did not want to hear them. Instead he just turned away.

"Apologize to the Queen," he said coldly. "Tell her you will wear the dress as she wishes."

"Gendry-"

"You have behaved badly today," Gendry said, turning on Arya. "Do you think that you are the only one who must do things they don't want to do? Do you think that gives you the right to be so callus? We all have our duty, and you are not so special that you can shy away from yours."

Arya's face grew red with humiliation and anger.

"It isn't fair-" she started hotly.

"No!" Gendry roared, suddenly enraged, his temper getting the better of him. "How could I forget that when you remind me every waking minute? You are seventeen Arya, a woman grown! Now start acting like one!"

Tears were pooling in her eyes, and Gendry knew he had gone too far, but damn it she made him so angry. Damnation to the seven hells! And he could see it, the growing hurt that was swirling around on her face. He could see it in her eyes. _You've ruined it. You've ruined everything!_

"Apologize to my mother," Gendry said firmly, ignoring the gaping servants.

"Yes your grace," Arya spat, but her voice quivered despite her icy demeanor.

He turned to go.

"Gendry!"

He had a split second where he looked into her eyes, clustered with tears, and then she was barreling into him, her arms wrapped around him, and crying. And he knew, he knew this was her way of apologizing, not only for today, but what they were really fighting about. What had happened the day before in the Red Keep, where the dragon heads were kept. What pained him to even think about.

He had taken her down there as sort of an adventure. They did that sort of thing from time to time, when they weren't caught up in their duties, which was rather often. The day before had been a stolen moment, one where Gendry could forget himself and trick himself into believing in a fantasy. To take her small hand in his and pull her down, grinning, with him to the darkness where the skulls were so big they could crouch inside them, and he had watched her eyes, wide with childlike wonder in the dark.

Her head was thrown back, gazing up at the great bones they sat crouched in, her mouth slightly open as she watched the light of the torches flicker against the dark black bone. Her hand had felt so light in his, her fingers curved smooth against his calluses, and he had forgotten himself. In that moment he had forgotten their whole relationship, and, his heart pounding so valiantly in his chest that he might not have been able to breathe, he had let his free hand glide across her cheek, tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and as she looked at him in astonishment, he had leaned in and kissed her.

For a moment, it was just darkness and Arya. But that was all it was, a moment, and it was shattered instantly as she jerked away, her face livid with horrible, terrible anger, and she had pushed him to the ground and away from her, shouting.

"You've ruined it!" She cried angrily, skirting away. "You've ruined EVERYTHING!"

And then she was gone, running up the stairs and into the light away from him, her skirts bunched up in her hands, her hair spilling down her back in waves, feet pounding mercilessly against the ground. Gone before he could even draw another breath.

It wasn't the first time he was abruptly and almost cruelly reminded about how much he wanted his wife to be, and how much she did not want him. Not in that way. The nearing of their wedding day had both caused his heart to flutter and his mouth to dry. He could not help but feel the thrill of what was to come beat within his breast, but if she didn't even want him to kiss her... He couldn't imagine what she would be like on their wedding night. Every touch would be tainted by her unhappiness. He had to come to terms that their first time lying together would be a bitter disappointment.

But he could not help imagining it, late at night, with the most vivid of details... Her body, which he had only caught a glimpse of once two years ago, small yet strong in his arms. His lips upon her hands, her lips, her neck, her breasts... Unable to control them, his thoughts would take a power hold of him, and he would have nothing to do but let them run their course and forget himself in his sure hands and the whispers of his mind. But afterwards he always felt empty knowing that the real thing might happen with time, but she would never be so free with her passions in the flesh than she would in his dreams.

"I'm sorry," she said now through tears. "This whole wedding has been driving me mad. It's all so real, isn't it? The dresses, the food, everything that I say and do cannot be my own..."

"Welcome to my life," Gendry sighed, leaning his head against hers. She gave a watery laugh.

"I did not mean to be short with you just then," Arya whispered. "Truly. Or... Or yesterday either. You're my best friend."

Gendry swallowed hard. Yes. He was her best friend. But he did not think he could be her best friend and only her best friend. He wanted to be her husband as well. He tried to ignore that want for now and wrap his arms around her.

"I know I'm lucky," she said faintly into his shirt. "I only... I just wish you were some insignificant lord or something."

Gendry laughed.

"As do I," he said. "What I wouldn't give to be small... A bastard even."

"You don't mean that," Arya said softly. "Because if you were a bastard then everything would be awful for you. Jon's lucky, not everyone would be so well looked after. And... And then you wouldn't know me, would you?"

"No," Gendry agreed.

"Maybe you wish you didn't," Arya said with a sigh, pulling back. "I'm proving to be a right shit of a wife."

"We're not married yet, milady," Gendry tried to tease, pushing some hair out of her face. "And that's-"

"No language for the future Queen?"

They both laughed.

"It could be worse I suppose," Arya said with a sigh, wiping her eyes. "I could be married to Joffrey. Maybe I would be if you hadn't changed your mind."

Gendry felt himself blush.

"I never thought he'd listen to me," he admitted. He had never admitted this to Arya before. In fact, it was always something that they talked about, his change from Sansa to Arya, without really talking about it. "But suddenly he asked me, after we came back to King's Landing, if I wouldn't like you better... He saw that we were friends..."

"Really?" Arya said, surprised. Gendry nodded.

"He asked me one day," he said, remembering. "I think it was a year or so after... I was sixteen I hardly knew what I was talking about... But Sansa didn't fancy me, and I spent most of my time with you..."

Gendry remembered the day clearly. His father rarely sought a moment with him, so it had been rare and a big surprise when the King had stopped him from slinking away to the forge and told him that they would be going for a walk to survey the preparations for the tourney that was to be taking place on Gendry's sixteenth name day, three days later.

Gendry remembered a feeling of apprehension and uneasiness at spending time with his father. They were so completely different, the king and his son, and Gendry knew with certainty that he would only make his father annoyed with their conversation, as he had in the past. He tried not to feel resentful that his pleasant afternoon was to be ruined. He told himself he should enjoy this rare pleasure of keeping the King's company. He never did quite succeed.

"This will be a fine tourney," Robert boomed as they walked past the tents that were being set up, servants and knights all in a flurry to make sure everything was ready. Gendry wanted to sink into the shadows with every stare that was shot towards him and the King, but he swallowed his embarrassment and strode tall next to his father. The truth was, he hated tourney's, and he would much rather have spent his birthday not being bothered and to make swords and helms as he pleased, but he said none of this.

"Yes your grace."

"Tis a pity you are too young to compete in it," Robert said with a snort. "Or so the Queen says, anyway. Cersei is so wet when it comes to these things. Why at your age I had already killed a man with my hammer, and you've not so much as lifted one!"

That was hardly true, but Gendry was in no mood to correct him.

"Those were the days," Robert said with a faraway sigh. "Where a man could be a man, and wasn't surrounded by such a consort of liars and idiots! God if I thought being King would lead to all this..."

Gendry stopped listening. He was tired of hearing about the old days all the time, and about how wonderful they had been, and how magnificent Robert had been. About all the whores his father had fucked, and all the men he had murdered, and all the violence and blood that had been shed. It seemed to Gendry a poor thing on his father's part that, for such a valiant and vigorous man he was supposed to have been, that he sunk so far into selfishness, gluttony and drink. All he had ever wanted from his father was for him to look at a sword Gendry had made and tell him it was a fine thing, but Robert only looked at blacksmithing as stupid, and he could not understand why Gendry would chose to lock himself up in a forge when he could be bedding pretty girls and beating men's heads in with a hammer. Now that he was older and wiser, Gendry could see that Robert had tried. He just didn't know what to make of a son who was of such a different mind.

"Well boy?" Robert barked, and Gendry started, lost in his own thoughts. "Have you even been listening?"

The honest answer was no, he hadn't, but Gendry hardly felt like admitting as such.

"My apologies your grace," he said but that only made Robert angry.

"Your grace!" He snarled. "As if you were some damned sort of fool! This is all Cersei's doing, of course, she's made you too soft..."

Hardly. Cersei hated him. It was Joffrey she doted on left and right. Joffrey with his lovely golden hair, while Gendry sat in the dark of the shadows, the fact that he so looked like his father damning him in her heart for eternity.

Gendry didn't say anything, but he felt anger swelling within him. Robert tried, he knew, but he didn't try hard enough. He never did. Everything was too hard for his father, so all the bother was washed down with drink and pleasure, and Gendry just wished... But that was stupid. No one would understand him. No one expect Arya. The thought of her, a fellow misfit, always made him happier.

They stopped by the row of seats and the royal box where Gendry would sit with his family in three days' time. He wondered if anyone would die this time. Sometimes knights died, when they got impaled in the neck by a jousting stick, or stabbed in a mortal area. One year, a knight got his balls cut clean off, and Robert didn't stop talking about it for a solid three weeks. He had laughed so hard, his face had turned magenta. Gendry hadn't found it funny in the least.

"Let's stop and sit a moment," Robert had said, so they did, watching the squires run two and fro with things for their knights. Long, smooth swords and armor that shone brightly in the sunlight. Gendry had always wanted to make a suit of armor-

"So what is it with you and Sansa Stark?" Robert asked suddenly. "Is she not pretty enough for you?"

Gendry was caught off guard, dumbstruck and blubbering.

"I-I-she, she is very beautiful!" Gendry sputtered out. "No one could doubt that! I-I never said that she-she wasn't!"

Robert snorted.

"Then what's wrong with her, hmmm? What is it about her that displeases you?" He demanded. Gendry felt his face heat from humiliation.

"Nothing your grace," he said honestly. "Sansa is very lovely."

She was too. Very nice at age fourteen, with her Tully hair and fair skin. They just had nothing in common. Every time they had lunch together, or danced at a feast they had nothing to say. Gendry had tried to show her the forge, but Sansa had wrinkled her nose and said it smelled, and what was a crown prince doing in a forge anyway? After that, he had tried, very feebly he admitted, but it seemed that there was a mutual understanding between them that while they both liked each other fine, there was nothing between them and never would be except duty. But his attempts to court her had been shabby, so shabby that his father, it would seem, had finally heard about it.

"Then why not show it?" Robert asked. "Give the girl a necklace or something."

"I... I should," Gendry muttered weakly. "I mean I will..."

Robert snorted again. That hadn't satisfied him.

"Well," he said, "if you can pay so much attention to her sister, then I don't understand why it's so hard for you to just pay the proper respects to your future bride."

Gendry sputtered.

"What?"

"Arya Stark," Robert said firmly. "And don't try to deny it either! You spend every waking minute with that girl, if you could call her that."

Gendry felt his face color all the way to his ears.

"Arya's just my friend," he said quickly. "I'm not courting her."

"Would you like to?"

Gendry blinked in shock. He opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out. He didn't believe it, but Robert was... Robert was _serious._

"Well?"

"I can't!" Gendry choked out. "I mean, Sansa-"

"To hell with Sansa," Robert snapped. "Forget Sansa for a moment. If given the choice-"

"I cannot break my engagement-"

"We've made no formal announcement," Robert cut across him hotly, his temper flaring.

"But won't the gods-"

"Fuck the gods!" Robert snarled. "I'm asking you who you want to marry, damn it! I never got the chance to choose, and by hell I don't want the same to happen to you!"

Gendry was stunned silence. He had never thought about that.

"Well boy?"

He struggled.

"I... Arya and I... I suppose..."

"Well stop supposing!" Robert said in his booming voice. "You can't suppose with this sort of thing!"

So Gendry didn't suppose. He knew.

"Yes," he managed hoarsely. "I mean, yes to... To Arya."

Now, with her wiping her eyes, sighing, Gendry wondered if going with what he wanted wasn't the worse thing he had ever done. It had changed everything, but only slowly. At first, it had just been because Arya understood him, because they were friends and a life with her seemed like a life worth living. But then... But then she had started to grow up and mature and his feelings... Well his feelings had started to mature, hadn't they? And here they were, she and him, standing in her chambers as her serving girls, carrying her wedding gown, scuttled out of the room uncomfortably. Never a moment alone.

Maybe this was him paying the price for breaking his agreement with Sansa. Maybe this was the Gods punishing him, damning him to a life of loving her, while she would always be trapped by it.

"I never knew," Arya said now. "But... Well Sansa had always taken it so well..."

"She's Sansa," Gendry said affectionately. "She does everything well."

Arya groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Don't I know it," she sighed, and then she shook her head, as if wishing for all the foolishness to go away. Gendry wished as well.

"Are you ready for the feast tonight?" Gendry asked. "And the tourney tomorrow?"

Arya looked irritated again, but this time not with him.

"Another set of insufferable dresses," she said with a groan. "Oh I'm so jealous of you! I wish I could ride in the tourney!"

"You'd beat every knight to a pulp, I have no doubt," Gendry chuckled, but then he became serious. "It seems a bit strange; to be a having a tourney right after Jon Arryn's burial, not even cold in the ground..."

"I know," Arya agreed, and Gendry was glad they could talk freely again. She was too, he could see it. "Father protested furiously..."

"But Robert is the King," Gendry said grimly. "And we might have no money, but he'll run all the even kingdoms into the ground for his amusement."

A crinkle appeared between Arya's eyes, but she said nothing about it. She never said anything when Gendry's face went dark as he spoke of his parents, but he felt her press her hand affectionately against his. He tried to smile at her, but it was a poor attempt.

"I am excited," Arya said, trying to lighten the mood, "about being crowned Queen of Love and Beauty that is... If you win."

Gendry laughed.

"So despairing, Lady Stark," he said, giving her a slight shove, but he did not let go of her hand. "And what if you dress up as a knight and beat all of us men black and blue? Who will be Queen of Love and Beauty then?"

Arya chewed her lip in mock consideration.

"I suppose you'd have to do," she said with a sigh, "but you're not very beautiful, or very loving are you?"

"Or a woman," Gendry pointed out.

"Well we'd make you King of Love and Beauty then," Arya said, "we'll bind your hair with grass..." "_And you can be my forest love_," Gendry sang rather badly. "_And me your forest lass_," Arya finished and, as if lost in her little joke of a fantasy, she ran her fingers through his hair lightly. He felt his throat run dry and his heart hammer in his throat. She seemed to catch herself. "But this is silly. You'll win, everyone knows that."

"Against the Mountain? He'd crush me to bits," Gendry said seriously. "I hope I never have to face him."

"You should be allowed a hammer," Arya said fiercely. "Then you could beat his chest in."

Gendry's amusement was wiped quickly off his face. The rage that sparked behind her eyes... Arya had always been strong willed and quick tempered, her world was so black and white, but sometimes it surprised Gendry, just how much... How the whole fury of winter and ice and wild wolf blood was really hidden under her skin.

"And get charged with the murder of a knight?" Gendry said with a frown. "I hardly think that would be a good thing to do as the future King of Westeros."

"He's vile," Arya said, her eyes dark, "and I hate him. I don't like the Hound either."

"Is there anyone in King's Landing that you do like?" Gendry teased, feeling as though such talk was a bad idea. He had the unsettling feeling that someone was watching him. Sometimes it felt like the shifting curtains, the shadows that danced on the walls and the whisper of the torch all had eyes that followed him everywhere. Maybe they did.

"Well you, stupid," Arya said, shoving him. "And father and Sansa are here, so I suppose there's some good down south after all."

Gendry laughed and shook his head.

"I hate to leave you," he said, standing up and clasping her hands, "but my mother looked ready for murder when she left, and if I keep her waiting any longer, she might actually go through with it."

"That's all right," Arya said with a shrug. "I have to get ready for the feast anyway. Another awful dress of your mother's wishes, I'll have you know."

"Well when you're Queen you can wear what you like," Gendry said, dropping their hands.

"I'll bring breeches into style," Arya joked with a relish, flouncing through the room dramatically. Gendry watched her and laughed.

"But for now, wear the dress," he said, shaking his head at her pout. "And the wedding gown isn't so bad either, admit it."

"I will not admit it!" Arya protested. "That god awful train! People will be breaking their necks tripping over it, and for another thing, I cannot breathe! It will be a poor thing indeed if I fall flat into a dead faint when we are saying our vows."

"I'll speak with my mother about loosening it," Gendry said, and he bowed to her. She curtseyed, but he knew he would be hearing about the wedding dress until he took it off her on their wedding night. He tried not to think about that.

He had no sooner left the room, when he nearly ran into his uncle Tyrion, who was coming from god-knows-where with a mischievous look on his face. But then, he always looked mischievous.

"Ahhh nephew!" He said gaily. "Stealing a moment with the bride-to-be?"

He nodded towards Arya's room. Gendry grimaced. Tyrion's tone insinuated something more than a 'moment,' but he and his uncle both knew that Gendry's time spent with Arya was always innocent. Everyone knew.

"I heard she raised quite a brawl," Tyrion said gayly as they walked down the hall. "Cersei looked positively livid. It was very amusing."

"Wedding dress again," Gendry said wearily.

"Oh again?" Tyrion said with a grin. "Well who's to blame the poor girl? Last time I saw her, she was positively drowning in it."

"I think she looks lovely," Gendry blurted, feeling like such a heel. Tyrion sighed and shook his head.

"Still besotted then?" He said. It wasn't a question. Gendry's face flushed hot. He did not respond. Tyrion sighed.

"You really should get yourself a whore," he said seriously. "Robert's right in that account. Hang your blasted honor. You aren't doing the girl any disservice by spending a few rounds in bed. And just think of it, her tits, the whine-"

"No," Gendry said firmly.

"So you want your first fumblings in bed with the Stark girl to be an utter embarrassment?" Tyrion demanded. Gendry felt his face heat again.

"I respect her too much; I have no interest in other-"

"In other women?" Tyrion said with a biting laugh. There was a bitter tone to his voice. "Let me give you some advice nephew: save yourself the pain and take a trip to one of Littlefinger's brothels. She'll only break your heart in the end."

A darkness had settled over his uncle's face, and Gendry did not say anything. He knew, vaguely, that Tyrion had been very hurt in the past, but he had never asked. In truth, he rather liked his uncle. Tyrion was someone who rarely cared what other people thought of him, and whenever Gendry had been on the brunt end of Cersei's anger, Tyrion was always there with a word or two of comfort, and a rather vulgar joke. And, if he was completely honest with himself, Gendry had considered everything Tyrion said. He and Arya were friends, and it was very clear that she had no idea what to make of him in the romantic sense. One time, he had even made the trip down to one of the brothels, but once inside he could not go through with it and had stolen away. He did not know if it was bravery or cowardice that made him do so. The only time he had ever heeded his uncle and father's advice had left him feeling the last thing from brave. No matter how many times he had told himself it was the right thing, that he had done nothing wrong... The thought of it brought a chill to his heart and the bitter word that whispered _coward_.

They reached Cersei's room and both went in.

"There you are at last!" Cersei spat, and it was clear that Gendry's stalling with Arya had allowed her anger to fester. "Yes, come slinking in like a coward!"

"And a good day to you too, sister," Tyrion said merrily, but Cersei ignored him, her eyes were fixed on Gendry.

"Arya is going to apologize," Gendry said calmly. "I've talked to her-"

"Oh and I suppose that makes everything all right!" Cersei said lividly. "You made me look a fool in there today, against that shameful little tart-"

"Arya Stark is hardly a tart," Tyrion said, helping himself to some wine. Cersei continued to ignore him.

"I did my best mother," Gendry said, still trying to remain in control of his emotions.

"Always," Cersei said, for a moment a look of hurt flashed across her face, "always it is Arya who you support! You always stand by her like some sort of lost puppy-"

"That's hardly fair," Gendry said, tightening his hand on his sword. "Maybe if you-"

"Maybe if _I_?" Cersei swelled in indignation. "I am the Queen! I am your _mother_! How dare you disrespect me so?"

"I have already had my fair share of words with Arya," Gendry said feeling his resolve wane. "I do not want to quarrel with you."

"Your lady needs to earn some respect!" Cersei said. "And know her place."

"I assure you Arya will apologize for her conduct today," Gendry sighed. "And she will wear the dress as well without a word."

"I highly doubt that," Cersei snapped, but she seemed somewhat satisfied at last, and her face began to return to its normal color. There was a crackling tension in the room, but no one addressed it.

"I heard from Varys that father is coming to King's Landing," Tyrion said cheerfully.

"Yes," Cersei said, her voice faltering slightly. "Of course he is. He would not miss his grandson's wedding."

"Ahhh yes," Tyrion said, as if forgetting, but Gendry had a feeling he was up to something. "How could I have forgotten the joyous occasion?"

Cersei wavered slightly, and there was a change in her demeanor. Her eyes flicked to Gendry almost guiltily, but she could not meet his gaze. Gendry frowned, not understanding. His mother sat down, glaring at Tyrion, but he merely smiled.

"Aren't we all so excited," his uncle said, taking a swig of wine. "And isn't Gendry just the picture of Robert at that age?"

Gendry and Cersei dared not look at each other.

It was a source of great pain in their relationship, Gendry knew, that he looked so much like his father. The older he had gotten, the more the resemblance had flowered, and the more Cersei could not look at him without the resentment and anger she harbored towards Robert. Not when all their other children were so lovely and golden haired. Gendry had been a grave disappointment to her, he knew, but no matter how hard she tried, there was one thing Cersei could not avoid, and that was that she fiercely loved her children. Even Gendry.

"Why so quiet sister? Is something amiss?" Tyrion asked, still cheery. Cersei's glare could burn a whole city to the ground. Gendry felt something bitter in his mouth.

"No," she said smoothly. "Why would there be? You're always so queer, Tyrion. Why don't you just run back to that whore, to wherever it is you've hidden her."

"Always so subtle," Tyrion said with a dramatic sigh. "But I'm in no mood to stay. I'll be off."

He pushed himself from the chair and slid off it with a practiced ease, draining the wine class, smiling and both Cersei and Gendry, and then he waddled out, an unreadable look on his face. The door slamming behind him left a ringing silence. Neither mother or son spoke. Cersei turned away from him.

"Leave me," she snapped. "Just go away and leave me in peace."

Gendry fancied himself so used to this kind of response that he had grown an invisible armor against it. He was wrong.

"As you wish," he said dully, bowing even though she had her back to him, and then he left too, the door swinging shut behind him. As he paused outside, he thought he heard a muffled sob from within the room, but that was probably just his imagination.

**Remember this is only Gendry's POV. Next comes Arya's… And it might be that she's feeling differently about the situation than Gendry perceives her to be. This first chapter is about Gendry's relationship with Arya, and his next POV will delve more deeply into his relationships with his family. Also, importantly: if you have any suggestions or ideas about this fic, please feel free to share them, here, or drop a message in my askbox on my blog. I've gotten some really lovely feedback and ideas from easymuse, and so I welcome input. Hope you like this new story =) *coughs* (i know I shouldn't be taking this on when I've got stuff unfinished but I couldn't resist)**


	2. The Wolf in the Wedding Dress

**Hey guys here it is! Sorry about the long wait, my beta had a computer crisis, and then I had to scramble to find a back-up beta, a d thanks to the glorious easy muse I am able to now deliver this chapter to you (it's incredibly long you have been warned). Hopefully this will never happen again (poor April her computer crashed and she tried to recover this file but it's in the shop now). Anyways on to chapter (musical inspirations for this chapter was Nero by two steps from Hell and a Game of Badmitton from the Jane Eyre soundtrack).**

** Arya **

Arya had awoken that morning wondering which place was a dream, and which was reality. She had felt choked, and at first she had thought it was the sheets, but when she threw them off, she was still gasping for air. Sweat had plastered her nightdress to her body, and she peeled it off, seeing a bright red stain against the white, and not being surprised in the least. She always had strange dreams when she bled.

A bath had suited her well, and as she rolled the soothing cold water over her skin, she tried to chase away the visions that plagued her like a fever. But, like all bad dreams, she could not help but reflect on them. Besides, ignoring them only made it worse, she had decided. Then they cropped up at the worst moments.

Arya sunk underneath the water and dreamed again.

She had been standing in the godswood of Winterfell, by the heart tree, and Bran was there. She hadn't seen Bran in a good long time, but he was standing there, serious, no smile in his eyes. He told her that she must listen to the heart tree, because it was speaking to her.

"The gods are speaking to you Arya," he had implored her. "You must listen."

She tried, but all she heard was wind. Just leaves, rustling. She gave Bran a frantic look, but he only shook his head and beckoned her to listen. But how could she bloody listen when there was nothing to hear?

"Open your eyes Arya!"

Her eyes were open, damn it! She grew instantly frustrated, and made to leave, but there was a tremendous shaking of the earth and she was thrown to her hands and knees as the dirt shook and rolled. Something was coming she knew, something desperate and dangerous and her body tensed with fear. She tasted metal in her mouth.

A huge stag, whose antlers spanned at least as long as Arya's body raced towards her, terror on its face. But before he could trample her to death, an enormous lion leapt from behind it and dug it's claws deep into the stag's flesh. The dying animal screamed and screamed but it was no use. The lion's huge teeth flashed, and it sunk it's teeth into the stag's neck and ripped it open. There was a gurgling, choked noise, and Arya realized that she was screaming, trying to run but she was glued to the ground. The lion would kill her-

Something grabbed her and she screamed.

"Calm down Arya."

It was Gendry, and everything melted away and they were in the godswood but there was no stag or lion or Bran. Just Gendry. Instantly she was relaxed.

"Did you see it?" She asked.

"See what?" He did not have his formal clothes on, but a thin white shirt and trousers. His legs were bare and he wore no shoes. Arya took an automatic step back, or at least she tried to, but nothing happened. His hands grazed over her face.

"You want me."

"Stop," she snapped, wriggling away. "You're being very silly and this is all a dream. Go away."

"I would," he said, his fingers weaving through her tangled hair, "but you don't want me to."

"I do," Arya said, swatting his hands again. "Very much so."

"Why deny yourself Arya?" He demanded, his fingers leaving goosebumps.

"I'm not denying myself," she said almost haughtily.

He raised an eyebrow, smiled, and then leaned down and kissed her. The kissing happened very fast, and it escalated very fast until he was everywhere, his fingers knotted in her hair, sliding down her back, roving her breasts...

"Stop," she gasped. "Please I can't-"

"Yes you can."

"No but I-I don't know! I don't know if I want to, this is all happening too quickly, let go!" She threw him off, and as soon as they staggered apart, chains snapped up from the ground and clamped themselves against his legs and arms, a weight falling on his neck and he hung there, unmoving.

"Gendry?" She asked timidly.

He did not stir.

"I'm sorry, I just..."

But he was changing, withering, his skin pulling taut against his bones, sapping of color until it was a sickly yellow, his head hanging so low his chin must be touching his chest. Panicked, she ran to him and grabbed his face, but as she did all his skin fell to ash and, crumpling down, he decomposed into dust.

That had been when she woke up.

It was not hard to decipher that dream. Everything was so plainly written out. The parts with Gendry... She tried not to think about them as she got up out of the water and allowed her hand maidens to give her towels and dress her. She wore a shift and a robe today, no dress. The robe felt like a great weight. Today was the day for the wedding dress fitting.

But as someone brushed her hair she couldn't help but think about the hunger and the touch... Her face flushed and she sighed. Everything seemed to be coming to a peak between them as of late, driving them farther and farther apart. It was just... It was just that Gendry was so sure of himself about the whole thing and Arya was not. Loving Gendry meant so many things. It was exactly what everyone wanted, but it was so tainted by how trapped she was by his feelings and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to her, but it especially wasn't fair to him.

"You're lucky," Lady Jeyne had said the other day when they had been sewing. Arya hated sewing, but it was a mandatory thing for a future Princess to do, and Sansa had given her so much lip about it, that she bit her tongue like a good girl and destroyed her tapestry. "Prince Gendry has such a warrior look about him. Some say he's the most handsome of men in all of Westeros."

"I can protest to that," Sansa had cut in good-naturedly, knowing how Arya always felt uncomfortable when they spoke of Gendry in such an objectifying way. "Certainly Ser Loras is the most handsome of men."

"That is true," Jeyne said cheekily, "but the prince... He has a way. Well he's so mysterious, isn't he?"

Arya snorted.

"He's just stupid," she said with a laugh into her needlework.

"I really cannot understand how you can be so beastly about him," Jeyne snapped indignantly.

"Oh, it's only Gendry," Arya said, rolling her eyes. "He couldn't be mysterious if he tried."

"I think I am on to you Arya," Jeyne said craftily, smirking slightly. "All these comments, it's really a ploy, isn't it?"

"A ploy for what," Arya asked dully. Jeyne leaned forward and lowered her voice so that the other ladies couldn't hear."A ploy that, despite all your protests, you can't wait to see what's between his legs," she giggled.

Arya jerked backwards, repulsed, her face turning a bright blotchy red. Sansa gasped in horror as well.

"Jeyne!" She cried in a whisper. "For shame!"

Jeyne wriggled her eyebrows at Arya, grinning from ear to ear.

"I knew it was true," she said, "it's written all over your face."

"It's not!" Arya sputtered. "I mean... I mean I don't! I can wait... I... I..."

Oh, she had felt like such a stupid virgin then. And so humiliated as well to think of Gendry... She didn't want to think of him like that but she had to didn't she? She had to and-

"Oh, Arya," as if conjured by her will he had appeared at the door, smiling and unaware. Blissfully unaware."I've got a moment free, would you perhaps like to take a walk with me?"

She had been able to escape, and she hadn't thought it possible. She had loved him ever so much in that moment. He just knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say, and it didn't matter what was between his legs at all. Just their friendship. She had laughed when she hadn't laughed in ages, and stood in the head of what had once been a gigantic monster... Everything had been perfect and the wedding and all that came with it melted away.

But then he had kissed her.

Arya's thoughts were interrupted for, as if on cue, the doors banged open and Cersei, flanked by Sansa and a dozen ladies, strode in, along with servants carrying a good deal of white and gold material. Sansa threw Arya a warning look, as if sensing all the danger that was about to happen, but Arya ignored her. She was already in a black mood because of her dreams and she did not need Sansa giving her a lecture with her eyes.

To be honest, Cersei was being perfectly fine, but for some reason everything she did set Arya's teeth on edge. It was just that... Every time the Queen opened her mouth, Arya saw the large, sharp teeth that had sunk deep into the stags neck and drank its blood. Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the open back of the dress prickled over her skin and she felt as if every word from Cersei's mouth was grating on her bones.

"I think more gold-"

"No!" Arya burst out, unable to stand it any longer. "No more gold! We shouldn't have any gold, it's too garish."

Cersei's mouth went into a thin line. Sansa shook her head. And you had been so good.

"Perhaps here," Cersei said, ignoring Arya, "on the train."

"Ugh the god-awful train!" Arya shouted, suddenly loosing her temper. "I'm likely to be dragged down by the weight of it! How am I supposed to walk?"

Cersei's eyes flashed like coals, and it was wolf battling lion, both unwilling to back down. The atmosphere in the room had gone very thin.

"Someone spent a very long time on this dress," Cersei said evenly. "I personally have been responsible for its design, as Queen-"

"As the bride," Arya cut across her, "I think we should make alterations. I think Gendry would agree with me."

Sansa looked utterly horrified, and the look on her face was mirrored throughout the room. It was so unfair of Arya to bring Gendry into the argument, Sansa's face told her, for he would, as he always did, side with her. Arya had broken the thin ice she was on, she knew, but everything about Cersei was setting her on edge and she just couldn't seem to stop herself.

"Really," Cersei said with a malicious smirk, "it won't matter to my son a wit what you wear. I assure you that if he's anything like his father, he'd prefer to have you walk down the aisle naked."

Arya was taken by such a fever of surprise that she couldn't say anything, but Cersei had gotten what she wanted. Oh she must have heard Jeyne's comments the other day! And how stupid Arya felt and looked now!

"You will wear the dress," Cersei said in a low voice, "with the gold trim-"

"-I will NOT! I refuse! This is my wedding-"

"That it may be, but you are marrying the future king-"

"To hell with that! Get me out of this insufferable dress this instant!" Arya roared, ready to rip it off herself.

"Arya!" Sansa had cried in utter dismay.

As if on cue Gendry entered, a haggard and worn look that seemed to always cover his face like a mask. If Arya hadn't been so on edge from her spat with Cersei, she would have felt remorse for causing him more trouble. He looked so tired just then. A million years, maybe even more. Just like in her dream.

"Your Grace."

Sansa was the first to find her voice. She dipped in a low bow, and Arya realized she should do the same but she was steaming with uncontrollable wolf-rage that her knees would not bend. They would never bend.

"Lady Sansa," Gendry nodded. "What appears to be the trouble?"

That was just a pleasant formality of course. As if the trouble wasn't obvious! Gendry was pulling himself away, to his place of firm indifference, Arya could see it, and for some reason that made her more angry. The image of him in chains flashed in her mind and her frustration worsened.

"Lady Arya does not like her wedding dress," Cersei snarled, not bothering to hide the tone of malice in her voice. Arya glared.

"I cannot breathe," she snapped in defense. "One would think that the bride falling over in a faint during the celebrations would cause a slight disruption to the wedding. Besides, it's hideous."

Cersei swelled furiously like a great red grapefruit, and Sansa gave a little squawk as if to say, 'oh Arya please.' But Arya would not hold her tongue, even if Gendry did give her a reprimanding look.

"I think you look beautiful," he said with such true feeling that suddenly Arya felt a stab of something else, and she was reminded almost angrily of what had happened down amongst the dragon skulls... The look he always gave her that reminded her just how much he cared for her and how confused she was of her feelings for him.

"I will not wear it," she said to him. "You cannot make me."

Of course he could make her, if he wanted. He held all the power and she, as a weak and feeble lady, held none of it. But Gendry never would, she knew. He was far too honorable for that. Still... She hated it. She hated it because she had never gotten the chance to have a stab at what she wanted, and perhaps, if she had, she would have chosen Gendry anyway. But she would never know, would she?

She remembered the day she lost all choice, just like she remembered the day she met him. She had been nine, wild and full of wolf blood. Little else had changed her since, except that she was a woman now, when then she had just been a scruffy and unpleasant-looking child. Sansa had hated her then. The feeling had been mutual.

"Why is the king coming to stay?" Arya had asked rudely, sticking her fingers into her pudding.

"Yuck Arya!" Sansa had cried. "Must you always act like a heathen?"

Arya wiggled her pudding covered fingers in front of her sister and Sansa screamed. Jon snorted with repressed laughter so hard his pudding came out of his nose. Robb shook his head, but he was smiling too. The only people who weren't smiling were Sansa, Catelyn and Arya's father.

"Robert was my best friend once," Ned said seriously. "He still is, King or not, and if he wants to come North, then North he shall come."

He and Catelyn had shared a knowing look, and then both glanced at Sansa. Arya hadn't understood at the time (the pudding was far too delicious to give it much thought), but she would understand soon enough. For the time being, the King was coming, and it was a damn awful nuisance that he was.

Winterfell was scrubbed and cleaned and dressed up to be fit for a King, until it gleamed and glowed almost unnaturally. Arya seemed to mirror it. She found herself swept up and shut from the outdoors and away from all her play. Dunked time and time again in a hot bath and scrubbed until her skin was raw and blotchy. She had a new dress made, a grey one (Sansa's was pink, of course), and for hours Cat had sat her down and tried to remind her of her proper manners. It was a fruitless task and painful for both mother and daughter. But Arya was going to be in fine company for the first time in her life, and no stone was to be left unturned when it came to decorum.

Sansa thrived on all the to-do, of course. She was delighted with the new decorations, and the dresses and the lessons. She ate up every boring lesson like a starving child and sighed and gasped with every new thing that came prancing by. Where Arya scowled, her sister beamed, as it always was. "I'm ever so excited," Sansa gushed to her best friend, Jeyne Pool the evening before they were to arrive. "Three princes! Here! At Winterfell! It's just like it is in songs."

"I hear Prince Gendry's very handsome, just like his father, and that Prince Joffrey is a lion like his Mother Cersei," Jeyne giggled.

"Oh yes," Sansa blushed. "I'm sure they're very gallant."

"I'm sure they're very boring," Arya snorted from her place at the window, as she furtively watched Bran scale the walls, free to do as he liked.

When the King arrived the next day, Arya was irked and irritated by his very presence. She already hated Prince whateverhisnamewas, and the other ones as well. The whole royal family would be stupid, she decided, but it would be fun to see the knights. She wondered how many men they had slain. The procession was huge and long and boring. The knights came first though, in their armor, and Arya wondered if one of them would let her hold their capital-forged swords. They looked much flashier and more exciting than the ones made at Winterfell. Along with the Knights, before the King and Queen's litter rode a sullen looking boy whose thick black hair was in need of a good shear, and since Jon and Robb and all the other boys had been forced to have their hair at the mercy of a sharp blade, Arya knew he must have been one of the servants.

"Oh look!" Sansa whispered.

She was pointing to a stupid looking blond boy on a horse, leering at them all like an idiot. He was surely the 'lion' Jeyne was gabbing on about. So where was the other prince? Or had there been another one? It didn't matter, Arya decided. She wanted to see the imp. She told Sansa so, but Sansa pinched her, hard, and told her to shut up.

Nursing a sore arm, Arya watched blackly as the King and Queen emerged from the safety of their carriage.

Queen Cersei was very beautiful, even if Arya was determined to hate her. She had a sharp mouth, thin and hard lips that matched the steely look in her green eyes. Her blond hair, thick and golden, was done up in braids, and she looked a little worse for wear, but the perfect Queen never-the-less. Sansa would adore her.

Robert was a grave disappointment. Fat and old, his face beet red and his gaze somewhat wandering, Arya wondered how he could ever be considered King in the first place. Surely this was not the man who crushed Rhaegar Targaryen with his strength and a war hammer. How could this waddling man be a great warrior?

There was silence as the King made his way to her father and stopped short, narrowing his eyes at him. He cleared his throat.

"You've gotten fat," he said. Arya gasped aloud, but Ned held the King's gaze.

"So have you," he said, his lip twitching into a grin. "Your Grace."

There was a moment of fearsome pause, and then the King threw back his head and roared with laughter, thwacking at Ned, tears running from his eyes and down his fat cheeks. Arya watched with a mixture of repulsion and confusion.

"Oh it's good to see you Ned," he said, embracing her father. They clapped each other on the back like brothers.

"And you, Robert," her father had sighed, smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. They were tired, Arya realized suddenly, despite his joy at seeing his old friend. She wondered why.

"We are honored to have such high esteemed guests," Lady Catelyn said politely, dipping low into a curtsey.

"Oh posh!" Robert said, making a wet noise with his lips. "High esteemed indeed!"

"You forget Robert that your wife and children are amongst you in company," the Queen said, stepping forward. Her smile implied mirth, but the air around her was chilled and frosty, and her lips were pulled gaunt against her teeth. Arya might have been intimidated, but Robert wasn't. He snorted.

"I haven't had the chance to meet your children," Ned said, breaking through the thick atmosphere.

"Oh quite right," Robert grunted. "Quite right."

He looked around himself as if he wasn't sure who his children were, or that they had come with him. He waved a servant over to make the proper introductions.

"Royal Prince Joffrey." The annoying boy with golden hair nodded from his horse, his eyes on Sansa, who blushed feverishly. "Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen." Tommen was like a roly poly, round but with a kind-looking face. He had trouble staying on both feet when he bowed. Myrcella smiled shyly, her eyes flicking to Robb, who stood tall and proud in his best clothes, and she blushed very deeply as she curtseyed.

"Where's the imp?" Arya whispered and Sansa glared at her as if she might stake her through the heart with one gaze.

"And lastly, his royal highness Prince Gendry." Sansa instantly snapped her attention away from Arya, her eyes wide and sparkling, fixated on the Prince. Arya rolled her own, and then blinked. It was the boy with the thick black hair. He shook it out of his face, revealing bright blue eyes. But of course he's the Prince, Arya thought, feeling stupid, he looks just like the King!

She and her siblings all bowed. The royal children did the same. The next formalities passed by in a boring blur. The imp did not make an appearance and Arya trudged back to the castle gravely disappointed. No imp and a beastly feast later where she would have to act proper and hold the arm of Joffrey 'Worm Lips' Baratheon.

"Don't slouch, Arya," Lady Catelyn said, and that just made Arya scowl further. With that, and another dress, her hair combed so fiercely and then braided with such vigor that her scalp itched, Arya was in a very foul mood by the time the feast arrived. It was with a fresh scowl and heavy feet that she trudged after Sansa down to the feast where their Princes awaited.

Gendry bowed and was polite to Sansa, commenting on how lovely she looked, while she could only mumble and blush in reply. Joffrey looked Arya up and down and sniffed with dissatisfaction.

"Are you sure this is a girl?" He asked no one in particular. "It looks like a horse."

"And you look like an ass," Arya shot right back, taking Joffrey's arm as the doors opened and they walked in, making it impossible for him to retort, but Arya swore she heard a snort of laughter coming from in front of her where Sansa and Gendry were walking.

They all sat at the big table, without Jon, which made Arya very sad. She would have so liked Jon to sit with her. He would have known how to make her feel better. As it was, he was so far away she could barely see him. She supposed she would have to enjoy the food instead of making conversation.

"Are all Northerners heathens?" Joffrey asked rudely as he watched Arya devour a chicken leg. She glared at him.

"No," Sansa said before Arya could think up something rude to say back. "Ignore Arya. She's like a commoner."

Arya's face turned bright red, but she would not cry. She decided to shove more chicken in her mouth, and then opened it for Sansa to see. Sansa shrieked, but by the time Catelyn looked to see what the matter was, Arya had turned back to her meal as docile and polite as a Queen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Prince Gendry smirk. He was probably laughing at her. She decided she hated him too.

There was sewing the next day, and Sansa fawned over Myrcella shamelessly. Arya watched, sulking peevishly as she stabbed at her piece of cloth with her needle. Myrcella was just the sort of sister that Sansa wanted and would have loved. Arya was a grave disappointment, she knew. She was a grave disappointment in everything. Especially sewing. Stupid sewing.

"Let's see your stitching then Lady Arya," Septa Mordane said, and Arya jumped, having been lost in brooding thought. She did not want Septa Mordane to see her stitching. Everyone would make fun of her.

"No it's not finished yet," Arya improvised wildly, batting her lashes in an attempt to look like Sansa but it was of no use. Septa Mordane pried her sewing from her hands.

"Oh Lady Arya!" She sighed. "You would do well to sit next to the Princess and learn from her. I've seen commoner's stitch better than this! It'll have to been taken out and redone, I'm afraid. Oh really."

Arya felt tears prickling at her eyes as Sansa glared at her, equally as embarrassed. Princess Myrcella just sat there quietly, unsure.

"Well," Arya said haughtily, her lip trembling, "if commoner's can stitch so much better then maybe you should have them sitting in here all day!"

"Lady Arya!" Septa Mordane gasped. "I will not tolerate this behavior in front of the Princess!"

Arya looked over at Myrcella, and then she jumped to her feet, tears welling at her eyes, and hastily curtseyed, bolting out of the room before Septa or Sansa could catch her, and running like the wind, not looking back, though they both did scream. Tears running from her eyes, she raced through the castle, down the stairs, and out to the courtyard where her brothers and the Princes were practicing swords. She stopped, just out of sight, caught her breath and dried her tears.

Like a lady, she walked out into the courtyard.

Robb and Theon were sparing with wooden swords, while the two Princes stood by, watching. Jon sat up on the wall, looking down at them from above. Forever separated. Arya knew that if she made a scene of herself, Cat would only find her more quickly, so she skirted up to the wall and sat besides Jon.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, lending a hand to help her. "I thought you were sewing with the ladies."

"It got boring," Arya lied, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She watched Robb and Theon as they thwacked at each other, torn between being serious and laughing. But just at the right moment, Robb cut in, and with brutal strength knocked Theon's sword from his hand. Arya's face lit up and she grinned. One day Robb would be a fierce warrior, the most fiercest in all of Westeros. Everyone said so.

"This isn't that much fun either," Jon said with a yawn.

"Why don't you go down and spar with Robb? You're just as good as he is," Arya asked with a frown.

"It's improper," Jon said, picking at the stone of the wall with his fingers. "The presence of a bastard would be an insult to our royal guests."

"Oh," Arya said, and then she scowled, "that's stupid. I hate them. I wish they would leave."

Before Jon could say anything in reply, there was a commotion down below that snagged at their attention. It appeared that Robb had offered the Prince's for a friendly spare, but Joffrey had no such ideas.

"It's a child's folly," he said in a sneering voice. "Bashing about bits of wood. It may befit simple Northerners as yourselves, but not a Prince."

"You're right," Jon said darkly, "Joffrey is quite the little shit."

"Simple?" Robb snarled, growing red in the face.

"I bet you can't even hold a real sword," Joffrey leered. Arya doubted Joffrey had ever held a sword in his life.

"Yes I have!" Robb shouted, his temper getting the better of him. "But we're not supposed-"

"At King's Landing," Joffrey pompously cut across him, "we aren't afraid to use real steel. We're not soft."

"Soft?" Robb roared. "That's enough out of you, you little-"

"Don't mind him," said a voice unexpectedly, "he's just afraid of being beaten."

Arya had been too busy glaring daggers at Joffrey to pay heed to his brother, but Gendry stepped from his place by the wall, looking slightly unsure of what he was doing. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders slightly, but he came forward none-the-less. There was a moment of surprise, and then Joffrey narrowed his eyes.

"I am not!" He protested in a whiny, childish voice. Gendry ignored him.

"He might be afraid of being beaten," Gendry said, clearing his throat slightly, more sure of himself. He stood taller. "But I'm not. I'll gladly spar with you."

Robb had a slightly dumbstruck expression on his face, but Joffrey did not. He glared with such anger at his brother, his face red with humiliation. Arya realized that there was no love between the two, as there was with her and her siblings. Even Sansa did not hate Arya with such a passion. Serves him right, Arya thought, smirking down at Joffrey. Robb seemed to recover from his momentary shock and grinned.

"I'll have to warn you," the Prince said, picking up a wooden sword, "I'm rubbish at fighting."

This seemed to please Robb even more.

"Look at him," Arya said disdainfully as they began to duel, "he is rubbish!"

"Hmmm," Jon agreed absently.

Within a few moments, Gendry had been knocked to his feet. Joffrey guffawed rudely, and Robb even laughed a little, but to Arya's surprise, Gendry laughed too. He took Robb's hand and got to his feet. He even bowed.

"It's been an honor," he said kindly, "Lord Stark."

Then he turned on his heel and left, leaving Joffrey to sulk behind him. Everyone watched them go, slightly gobsmacked.

"Joffrey might be a little shit," Jon said, "but his brother isn't."

"He can't even hold a sword properly!" Arya protested. "He's got no sense of form at all!"

"Oh Arya," Jon had sighed. "There's more to things than form."

And he slid from the wall and made his way to Robb, leaving Arya to look after him, frowning.

She had gotten into such trouble that night, for storming out on the Princess, that Cat had even threatened to force Arya to stay in her room and away from the feast, but when she saw Arya's face light up at the prospect, she decided against it. So again, Arya was pushed next to Sansa, scowling as one of the servants tried to brush and braid her wild mass of hair, while Lady Catelyn attended to Sansa's beautiful, smooth auburn locks. Life was not meant to be fair.

"Prince Gendry's ever so lovely," Sansa sighed, looking at her reflection as Cat brushed her hair.

"Mmhmm yes," Cat said, smiling a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. Arya scowled.

"He can't even hold a sword properly," she mumbled again grumpily under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest and slouching in her chair.

"Arya don't slouch," Cat reprimanded.

"Am I going to marry him?" Sansa asked quite suddenly. Cat gave a start.

"Who?" Arya demanded.

"The prince, stupid!" Sansa shot back.

"Prince Gendry? No! He's far too old!" Arya said with a laugh. Sansa scowled at her. She even scowled prettily. "And stupid."

"How can you say that!" Sansa cried in dismay. "He's the picture of intelligence! He's the crown prince."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"You're far too young for marriage," Arya said mockingly.

"Not now!" Sansa hissed. "When I'm older!"

"You? Queen?" Arya scoffed. Sansa's face turned bright red, almost mirroring her hair, which seemed to be growing static with her rage.

"Girls," Cat said quickly, trying to calm them both down.

"You're just jealous," Sansa spat, "because you are going to wind up an old spinster! No one will want you!"

Arya's face turned red as well.

"Good!" She shouted. "I never want to marry! I want to become a lady knight!"

"Arya, Sansa, enough!" Cat snapped sternly, effectively cutting both of them off with a sharp crack of her voice. They fell into a tense silence. Arya would not cry, and she so hated Sansa in that moment.

The feast was awful, and Arya sat with her arms crossed over her chest, not even enjoying the food. At one point the crown prince asked her if she was afraid that if she kept up her behavior, her scowl would remain on her face forever. She told him that direwolves ate people, and that shut him up, so he talked to Sansa instead. Stupid Sansa and stupid Prince Gendry. They deserved each other.

It seemed like cruel punishment, Arya reflected, when she and Sansa packed their bags along with the King and Queen and went down to King's Landing. She had cried and begged and yelled, but it had been no use. Sansa really was to be Queen, and she needed to be down south to learn the ways of court. And as her younger sister, Arya needed to be her companion.

"It's going to be all right," Jon said as Arya sniffed. "I have something for you."

He had offered her his hand, and lead her down from the castle, and to the forge. What they were doing there, Arya had no idea, and she had asked about a million times, but Jon would not divulge his secret. He told her she must wait and see, that it was a surprise. Well, she was surprised, for when they arrived at the forge, Milken was not there, but someone else with his back turned to them. When he turned around, Arya almost fell over herself in surprise. It was the Prince.

"What are you doing here?" She asked with unflattering disbelief. Jon pinched her.

"Don't be rude Arya," he said with a frown. She blushed, and then bowed, but couldn't help but glare at the Prince. His face was red too, whether it was from the fire or from his discomfort she knew not.

"It's finished," the Prince said gruffly, not meeting Arya's eyes but placing something that was in packaging upon Jon's outstretched hands.

"What's finished?" Arya wanted to know.

"Be quiet," Jon sighed, "or I won't give it too you."

"A present?" Arya gasped eagerly, but Jon ignored her, bowing low to the Prince. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," Gendry said, his face so red it could not be from the flame. "I was glad for the occupation. You have a nice forge here."

Arya noticed Milken was there, sitting down and beaming with pride and honor at the Prince's words. She crossed her arms over her chest. She would not like him. She would not. He had laughed at her, and he was stupid, even if he seemed to do nice things sometimes. With an awkward bow and thanks to Milken, the Prince left, looking relieved to do so. That left Jon and Arya alone.

"Go on," Jon said with a smile. "Open it."

It was a sword. Small, tiny and slim, just like she was. The blade was sharp and the craftsmanship neat yet intricate. Arya could not help but wonder how someone who could not even properly hold a sword could make one so beautiful and perfect. Jon said she could call it Needle, as all good blades had a name. She was giddy with happiness and hugged Jon Snow tight, wishing she would never have to let him go. "Remember," he said, "stick them with the pointy end."

His words and the blade were all she had left of him as she made the long journey down south, and her loneliness was strong and deep. She filled it by getting into all sorts of trouble, running through the woods and bogs, making friends with the smallfolk. They liked her because she wasn't afraid to trek in the mud and could belch louder than even the butcher, who was more than triple her size.

Once or twice she saw the crown prince watch her as she beat sticks with Mycah, the butcher's boy, and when she went with him and the other children off to look for salamanders in the creek when they were stopped off one day (when she should have been taking her company with the queen) he saw her, but said nothing. He didn't even get her into any trouble. He was strange and she could not understand him.

Sansa didn't seem to understand him either. As they settled into King's Landing, her whirlwind romance appeared to be woefully lacking in what she had expected. Arya had thought that he would come to call on her sister often, but it was a rare thing to see the crown prince on a day that wasn't a formal occasion. "He might give me a token of his affection," Sansa whined. "But all he wants to do is take me down to the stupid forge. It's hot and smelly in there."

But at least Sansa got to do things. The Queen liked her, and deemed her a good companion for Myrcella, so she was often off with the princess, visiting the Red Keep or saying their prayers. Doing whatever it was that Princesses did while Arya was stuck in her stuffy chambers, forced to study and learn the proper mannerisms of a lady at court. It was so dull she thought her eyeballs might cover themselves with dust and roll out of her head.

It was a lazy afternoon and Arya sat at the window like a drying old prune, hoping feverishly that the sunlight would somehow burn her book with its hot glare. It seemed that the gods in King's Landing were not listening to her. But as she wished her book would disappear in a burning inferno, she heard the drifting sound of voices from the yard below and craned her neck to see what was going on.

Oh, the two idiot princes, of course. They were sparring, while a sword master stood on and watched. They needed that poor sword master. It was so unfair, Arya lamented as she watched them. She would be so much better with a blade than they would ever be if only she wasn't a lady...

"What are you looking at with such keen interest Arya?" Ned asked, noticing Arya's neglect of her studies. She did not tear her gaze away from the two prince's fighting in the grass down below her window.

"Ahhh," he said, coming over and seeing what she was gazing at, "your sister's betrothed and his brother are quite the pair aren't they?"

"More like a ghastly pair," Arya said with a sniff and Ned laughed. "I thought prince's were supposed to be good at sword fighting."

"The crown prince seems to have some talent, I think," he said kindly.

"He's just strong," Arya insisted. Then she frowned. "Is he really to be Sansa's husband?"

Ned stood up and sighed, running a hand against his chin and watching Gendry as he beat Joffrey back several paces. He seemed unsure.

"Sansa says they are," Arya pressed. Maybe if they announced the engagement she could go home back to Winterfell.

"Nothing has been decided yet," Ned said firmly, his tone stating very clearly that Arya was not to press him.

There was a long silence as Arya continued to watch from her imprisonment at the window. Arya noticed that when the princes fought, it was not for sport. There was no mirth in their eyes, and their blows were cutting even if they were awkward and clumsy. When her brothers sparred, there was always merriment within the seriousness. There was no merriment here in King's Landing.

"Well," Ned huffed amiably, "it's clear you're no good here. Would you like to go and join them?"

Arya looked up for the first time.

"They wouldn't want me," she said sadly. "And anyway, I don't know how to sword fight."

Ned smiled.

"Go anyway. You'll have a better view than this window at any rate. And besides, you have a sword yourself now, maybe one day you'll learn to use it," he said with an encouraging smile. When Arya still looked wary, Ned turned and picked up a book of poems.

"Here, take this. You can study outdoors," he said, thrusting the book into Arya's hands. She looked up at her father and Ned gave her another encouraging smile.

"Go."

She got to her feet and reluctantly left the room. Arya made her way down the corridors, her feet seeming to have a mind of their own. She was soon trotting down the steps at an exuberant rate. Arya rounded the corner, sprinted down the hallway and slowed. Cautiously, she approached the entrance to the court yard.

"See here Joffrey, you're not trying," the Crown Prince's voice floated.

"I am," Joffrey snarled. Well, whine-snarled. "You are just bigger than I am."

"That's just an excuse," Gendry was standing with his back to Arya, arms crossed and sword held aloft. "The King's son must be the most brave and accomplished knight in the realm."

She eased into the courtyard, spying a nice barrel and patch of grass to perch on. Unfortunately, Arya was not sneaky enough for Joffrey.

"Stark!" He barked. "What are you doing here?"

Startled, Arya clutched her book to her chest and tried to say an excuse, but nothing came out that didn't involve gross insults that would send her back to her room with a sore, whipped bottom.

"I do believe you've frightened her Joffrey," Gendry said with a chuckle, giving Arya what must have been a sort of mocking look. She glared at her feet.

"This is no place for a girl!" Joffrey said angrily. "Go back to your wet nurse."

"My father sent me out here," Arya snapped. "And I don't have a wet nurse, stupid. I'm far too old."

"Why would Lord Stark send you out here?" Joffrey asked rudely. "To spy on us?"

"No!" Arya shouted, then she quickly lowered her voice. "He said I was... In need of some fresh southern air."

The last part was a lie, but she didn't want to tell them the truth. They would laugh at her.

"That you do. You're much too feeble to be privy to a sword fight. Do you say not Gendry?" Joffreyy snapped. Gendry appraised her and Arya glared at him, just daring him to agree. I'll show him weak and feeble, she thought with venom.

"No," he said. "I see no reason why she should not watch."

Arya looked up, surprised. He walked towards her.

"What's that you're reading?" He asked. Reluctantly, she offered him the book.

"Poetry," he said with a smile. "Exactly what a young girl should read."

"Why?" Arya demanded. "What is so bad about poetry that a man might not read it?"

"Oh honestly Gendry why bother?" Joffrey huffed in the background. "Men don't read about flowers and love you stupid little girl! They read about bravery and riches. The stuff of Kings."

"And I suppose women do not?" Arya asked hotly, growing tired of his insults.

"Why would they want to?" Gendry inquired, earnestly interested.

"Why should they not?" Arya snapped. "Why should women only read poetry and men only fight? I do not think that I am so feeble as to not be able to sword fight!"

Joffrey laughed rudely.

"So feeble? Honestly you little mouse, one blow would kill you," he barked rudely. Gendry laughed as well and handed Arya her book back.

"I am not a mouse!" Arya cried angrily.

"No, you're a rat. A smelly, dirty, ugly little rat!" Joffrey crowed.

"Don't," Gendry said, but Joffrey ignored him.

"I am not!" Arya yelled back, tears forming at her eyes.

"Squealing, crying, ugly, spying RAT!" He sang. Gendry had stopped laughing. His mouth was in a thin line and his eyes cold and hard.

"STOP!" She shrieked, flying at Joffrey. Before he could stop her, Arya threw herself upon him and he toppled over in surprise.

"Stop-Calling-Me-RAT!"

Every word was a blow.

"Get off me!" Joffrey yelled, trying to block his face. She kept hitting him anyway.

"You're a shit fighter!" Arya shrieked. "I've seen pigs fight better than you!"

Gendry ran forward to pull her off Joffrey. Arya kept kicking.

"Calm down," Gendry said, holding her arms behind her back so Arya would be powerless. "Easy."

"Let me go!" She thrashed and he released her. Arya stepped backwards, regarded Joffrey coldly on the ground and marched off, swiping up her book.

She then stomped over to the spot she had seen and sat down on the barrel hard, lifted up the book vigorously and began to read furiously. Or rather pretend to.

And then suddenly, Gendry burst into hysterical laughter. Joffrey glared at him as he stood to his feet.

"Oh, she showed you," Gendry laughed. "We've got ourselves a proper fighter here."

He walked over to her and bowed dramatically.

"My dear Lady," he said pompously. "I vow never to offend thine nature or cross thine path for I fear I shall fall ill."

Arya ignored him. He chuckled.

"You should learn to sword fight," he said in a low voice so that Joffrey could not hear. "I do believe you'd give our Prince a run for his money."

"No thank you sir," Arya snapped sarcastically. "I'd prefer to read delicate poetry."

"We shall see," he winked at her. She went back to her book. But she had to admit, a small smile played at her lips.

She decided to ask her father about it.

"I don't see why not," he said with a shrug. "You have a sword, shouldn't let a fine piece of steel go to waste."

And so she began her lessons with Syrio Forel, a sellsword from Braavos who taught her how to dance. But not proper, stupid dances. Water dancing. Fear cuts deeper than swords, he had told her as their wooden swords clashed and sang feebly, as if wanting to turn to sharp, boisterous steel. One day they would be. One day Arya would be able to fight just as good as any knight or man. And then she would be unstoppable.

"Quick on your feet!" Syrio commanded as they danced around one day. It was towards the end of her lesson and Arya was hot, sweaty and tired. It didn't matter. Syrio sparred with her twice as fast and with twice the strength, and when he disarmed her, he said, "dead girl." Just as he always did.

As she went to pick up her sword, Arya tried not to feel as flustered as she did.

"Your Grace."

Arya whirled around and nearly fell over doing so. Syrio, so alert and keen, had seen what she hadn't. The crown prince Gendry stood at the doorway, looking unsure as to why he was there in the first place. At once Arya's heart sank in horror and her face heated with annoyance. Surely now he would tell Sansa these weren't dancing lessons! And she had so loved her water dancing. Oh she hated him!

"I think that concludes our lessons for the day, Lady Arya," Syrio said, bowing to her. She bowed as well, but her gaze shot right back to the Prince, just waiting for him to say something stupid. Smiling politely, Syrio bid his leave. Gendry nodded to him as he went past him. That left the two of them alone.

"I suppose you're going to tell Sansa now?" Arya said haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Gendry said with a slight frown. Arya blinked in surprise.

"Oh," she said, trying not to sound as startled as she felt. " Well, good!"

He still stood in the doorway, blocking it. At fifteen his shoulders were uncommonly broad, and he looked very much a man grown, were it not for his shaggy black hair. He had a stupid look on his face too, like thinking was really difficult.

"What use has a lady got for a sword?" He asked finally. Arya bristled.

"I don't know," she fired back. "why didn't you ask yourself that when you made me one?"

She knew she ought not be so ungrateful for something she loved that he didn't have to make her. For such a wonderful gift. But, well.. The words were out there. They'd leapt from her mouth and there was no taking them back. She was far too annoyed to apologize. That would be mortifying.

Gendry just shrugged.

"I asked your brother why," he said, "but I thought I'd like to hear it from you."

"Oh? What did Jon say?" Arya asked, arms still crossed over her chest.

"He said he thought it'd be a good idea, since he didn't know what the South was like, to have you armed," Gendry relayed to her flatly, but he said it in a way that reminded Arya he was still waiting for her to answer his question. She tossed her head back slightly.

"I want to be part of the Kingsguard one day," she told him boldly, just daring him to laugh. He frowned.

"The Kingsguard?" He asked. "But you're a lady."

"So?" Arya demanded.

The crease in his brow furrowed deeper, and then he shrugged.

"You don't want to grow up and marry a lord then? Have his children and manage his castle?" He wanted to know. Arya glared.

"No," she said vehemently. "That's not me."

"Too prim and proper for milady?" He asked, and Arya saw a smile playing at his lips. For the first time she realized that, instead of making fun of her, he might be teasing her. She narrowed her eyes, unsure.

"Don't call me milady," she said dangerously.

"I beg your pardon," he said, bowing low, "milady."

He looked up, grinning at her, and Arya marched up to him and gave him a good shove. It caught him unawares and he took a stumble backwards.

"Well that wasn't very lady like."

She shoved him, as hard as she could, and he tripped backwards, sprawling against the red stone. She looked down upon him, satisfied, and strode out of the room, stepping past him as she went.

"What kind of lord's daughter are you?" He asked in befuddled amusement.

"This kind," she said over her shoulder, and she left him to lie there, the sound of his laughter fading through the corridors. Maybe Jon was right, she thought. Maybe there was more to people than form.

The next day, her lesson with Syrio was about to end when the sellsword took pause, and then bowed again. Sure enough, his lord and grace the crown prince was there. This time he looked completely sure of himself. This time he even smiled.

"What do you want?" Arya had snapped after Syrio bid his leave. She wasn't sure if she liked the prince yet. She still wasn't convinced he wasn't laughing at her.

"You're quick," he said with a wry smile, "for a lady."

She glared at him and made to shove past him.

"No wait!" He grabbed her arm and spun her around. Arya glared and wrenched her arm away, but he had already let go, looking embarrassed at trying to physically detain her. He took a few steps back, his face flowering with color.

"What?" Arya demanded. He coughed.

"I was... I was wondering," he said shyly. "If you would... If you would teach me."

Arya blinked. Was he making a mock of her?

"Teach you?" She repeated. "Me?"

He nodded.

"Are you mocking me?" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because if you are-"

"No," the prince cut across her hastily. "It's just... Well I'm not very good at sword fighting."

"Then get a sellsword to help you," Arya snapped. "Why don't you ask Syrio?"

Gendry's face flared to an even brighter red, if that was possible and he kicked at the dust under their feet. Arya could not understand it. Why was he asking her for help? Why when she was just a little lady?

"If you don't want to then fine," he said, looking humiliated. "It was stupid of me asking. I thought... Since, well maybe because we're friends-"

"We're friends?" Arya sputtered with such unflattering shock that Gendry blinked, taken aback. This was news to her. The prince frowned.

"Aren't we?" He asked. Arya was about to say no they very well weren't, but then she stopped herself. Why couldn't they be friends? It was lonely here in King's Landing, with only Septa Mordane and her father. Sansa hardly counted at all. And... Well he was going to be her brother one day, wasn't he? He could start now.

"All right," she agreed. "I suppose some extra help would do you some good. You are ghastly."

The crown prince grinned.

And so it began. The ending to everything. They became best friends almost instantly. Arya taught him to fight, along with his proper masters. Every day after her lesson with Syrio, he would come in, and she would teach him. Gendry was a hapless, but good student. Well, that was to say they fought constantly and he always got on her nerves. But it was nice to boss someone around, especially a prince, and Arya knew that Gendry was well aware of how much pleasure it gave her to do so.

And as the weeks moulded into months, they became more than just sparring mates. Gendry took her down to the castle forge and showed her how he loved to pound steel until it sang. He could makes swords, and armor and helmets. He showed her a pretty piece of steel he had crafted into a bull helmet.

"My father once said I was so stubborn I should have a bull as my sigil instead of a stag so I made this," he said, letting her hold it. It was heavy and he quickly took it back before it could slip from Arya's hands.

"Did he like it?" Arya wanted to know. The prince shrugged, but there was a tiny spark and his lips twitched, and Arya could see a memory there that he quickly tucked away.

"I suppose," he said. "He still doesn't understand why I like mucking around in forges so much."

"Why do you like mucking around in forges so much?" Arya wondered.

"I dunno," Gendry said with another shrug. "Maybe it's for the same reason you like wielding a sword."

She thought about it, chewing her lip. It seemed to make sense, in a strange way. Maybe that was why they got along so well. They didn't quite fit in the mould. Either way it didn't matter. He could make steel sing all he liked. Arya enjoyed his company, and the forge was much better than her stuffy chambers any day.

With Gendry as her friend, the time in King's Landing went by far more quickly. Arya found herself almost shocked when it had been nearly two years since she had come away from Winterfell. The pain of being away from home was still fresh and biting, but less so then it had before. Still, she knew the South would never be home. King's Landing did not have the heart tree, or her father's smile and her lady mother's laugh. It did not have Jon Snow, Robb, Bran or Rickon. Rickon was just a chubby little babe when she had left him. Arya wondered what he looked like now. Do I look much changed? She wondered what her brothers would do if they saw her now.

"What are you brooding about?" Gendry asked, coming up to where she sat perched along one of the windows. He gave her a playful nudge.

"Don't stupid!" She cried. "You almost made me fall out!"

"Almost," he said, not looking concerned in the least. "But not quite."

He offered her a hand to help her down, but she scowled and swatted it away. He raised an eyebrow and took a step away as she tried to make her way out of the window. She usually would have slipped down just fine, if it weren't for that stupid dress Sansa had insisted she wear. "You're too old to be running around in boy things," her elder sister had whined. "It's embarrassing." For once, Ned seemed inclined to agree with her.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Gendry wanted to know, amusement bright across his stupid face. "You look like Sansa."

"Shut up," Arya snapped and he laughed. "I do not look like Sansa!"

"You look nice though," he said, then he sniffed the air, and took several steps backwards as if in shock, "you even smell nice too. Like a proper little lady."

"Oh shut up!" Arya scowled again, giving him a push. "You don't. You stink."

She shoved him again, but this time he made to grab her, and suddenly they were crashing to the ground, wrestling. She was shouting at him, cursing like a sailor, but Gendry was just laughing. He pinned her arms down and started tickling her, and she was shrieking, trying so hard not to laugh and remain angry, but that only made Gendry's mirth more deep.

"Let go stupid!" She shouted, a giggle escaping from her until she caught herself, horrified, and then gave him a good kick. That stopped him laughing.

"What's going on here?"

Arya and Gendry froze, and then both jumped off each other, scrambling to their feet. There was a tear in Arya's dress and her hair had come undone from its braids. Gendry was covered in dirt and his face was bright red. Ned stood in the doorway, holding scrolls and looking furious.

"You keep your hands away from my daughter," he said firmly. "If you want to fight someone, then fight me."

"Oh it wasn't Gendry's fault!" Arya said quickly, running forward. "I started it, he was just talking."

"I beg a thousand pardons my lord," Gendry said hoarsely with a bow. "I never meant to cause offense."

Ned stood firm.

"We were just playing," Arya persisted, taking Ned's hand. But there was something in the look he gave Gendry... The boy noticed, and there was something deeper than bashfulness on his face. Arya could tell it was hard for Gendry to meet her father's eyes.

"Very well," Ned said with a nod of forgiveness. "Come along, Arya."

"But-"

"Come along," Ned commanded sternly. Arya shot a look at Gendry, and he gave her an urgent nod, so she complied with her father and followed him down the hall.

"It's not Gendry's fault," she said at once. She felt horrible for getting him in trouble. "I pushed him first."

"I know," Ned replied flatly, his strides quick.

"We're just friends," Arya was saying quickly. "He's like a brother-"

"I am not angry with the boy Arya," Ned reassured her, but she wasn't quite sure. They reached their rooms, and Ned opened the door. He motioned for her to go in. "Go and see to your studies."

"Aren't you coming too?" Arya wanted to know.

"No," Ned said. "I must speak to the King."

"The King? But we weren't doing anything-"

"Arya," Ned said, sounding tired. "Do not concern yourself."

She was concerned. She was very concerned. All afternoon she paced and paced, but he did not come back. She couldn't study, and he had locked the door. She felt horrible. Gendry would be in so much trouble and it was all her fault! She would go and plead with the King, she decided. Well, maybe not plead, but she would just be frank and brave and tell him not to punish Gendry because he was innocent and it was she that was at fault. She would.

It was nearly dinner time when Ned came back. Sansa was with him, and her face was swollen and plastered with tears, her eyes red from crying. Ned looked haggard and worn, his cold North face stoic and unsure. Arya opened her mouth in shock, because something was terribly wrong, when Sansa, taking one look at her, screamed.

"You! You did this! This is all your fault! You ruin everything!"

Before Arya could even react her sister was flying at her, sobbing, and clawing at her hair. Arya let out a yell, grabbing Sansa's wrists and forcing her away, though it wasn't all that hard because Sansa was not as strong as she was, and was in such a state of unhappiness that she hardly seemed to know what she was doing.

"Get off me!" Arya shrieked, and Ned rushed forward and took Sansa in his arms. She struggled, but then grabbed her father around the middle and began to cry.

"It was going to be so perfect!" She sobbed. "Just like in the songs!"

"I didn't do anything!" Arya shouted at Sansa.

"Yes you did!" Sansa screamed, enraged and choking on her tears. "The Prince was going to marry me! He was going to marry me and we were going to have lots of beautiful babies and I was to be his Queen and now you've ruined it! You've ruined it like you ruin everything!"

Arya felt her temper flaring.

"What are you talking about?" She yelled. "I didn't do anything-"

"Yes you did!" Sansa screeched. "He was mine, and you took him from me!"

"No I didn't!" Arya cried in utter befuddlement. "We're just friends-"

"Just friends! Now he's going to marry you-"

"What?" Arya shrieked. "Have you gone mad?"

"Girls," Ned said sternly. "Girls, please-"

"You're a liar!" Arya shouted. "I'm not going to marry Gendry, I'm not!"

"Arya!" Ned shouted. "Sansa! Listen to me!"

Arya felt tears welling in her eyes and she bit her tongue. Sansa glared at her from under Ned's arms as he lead them both to sit down. I'm not going to marry Gendry, Arya thought furiously. I'm not.

"Arya," Ned said gently, "I had a talk with the King today."

Sansa let out a wet crying whimper and buried her face in her handkerchief.

"He has spoken with the crown prince, and he seems to think it would be a good idea if Gendry made over his engagement to you."

The words were coming out of her fathers mouth but they weren't making sense. Marry Gendry. But that would mean... Arya's thoughts went numb. That would mean being Queen, and never going home, and giving up the north and Winterfell and her family and she would never be on the Kingsguard or wield a sword. She would be trapped here forever and never be able to leave. Tears were spilling out of her eyes.

"No," she said softly. "No Sansa's supposed to marry him. Sansa's supposed to be Queen."

Ned looked so incredibly sad just then, but he shook his head.

"Please say you haven't agreed," Arya begged. "Please."

"Arya... I cannot say no to a King. I tried my very best, but Robert is determined-"

"NO!" Arya shrieked, leaping to her feet in a violent rage. She swept the contents from the table and it went flying, plates shattering to the ground, scrolls and books cascading against the floor. "NO! I WON'T! YOU CANNOT MAKE ME!"

"Arya please," Ned said, but the wild wolf blood was running hot within her, and Arya screamed and screamed, but it would not make anything any better. He could not give her the answers she wanted.

That night she cried herself into a rage-filled sleep. The next day she awoken with a bitter taste in her mouth and swollen eyes. She refused to leave the room. She was too angry. Gendry tried to come to see her, but she refused him. When her father opened the door, she screamed, "I HATE HIM!" knowing that he would hear. He did not return after that.

It took her a long time to forgive him. Sansa, after crying about it, seemed to realize that Arya was just as unhappy as she was about the whole thing and forgave her sister. After that, Sansa managed to take the rejection quite gracefully, though all the gossip was hard for her to bare. It was even worse for Arya. The whispers that came when she entered a room. But every time there was even so much as a word uttered about her, Gendry was there, strong and tall, defending her name so that she didn't claw all their eyes out and get more than a few whispers. He stayed by her side during events, and left when they were over.

It was hard to hate him when he was such a bloody gentleman. Gradually, slowly and over time, they began to be friends again. Arya thought she might offer to teach him again, but when she went to do so, she realized that in her absence he had become quite the fighter. She felt sad at that, and didn't quite know why. Of course he would learn to be a good-swordsman on his own. He didn't need her.

She missed that he did, though. She missed being friends with him. She missed being Lady Arya, instead of soon-to-be-princess Arya.

Then one day, out of the blue, as if reading her mind, he asked her about Needle. When she told him she wasn't allowed to play with swords anymore, he was appalled and promptly demanded that he was still rubbish at sword fighting and it was her duty as his future wife to help him. It was hard not to love him for it.

But with this new change came something more than just rolling around in forges and banging wooden swords together. They had to officially court now. And this time, Gendry seemed more keen to follow up than he had with her sister.

He didn't buy her necklaces or any of that sort of rubbish, but he took her on walks and things. They were more formal than what they were used to as friends, and Arya liked to separate the two. There was friend time with Gendry, and then there was courting with Gendry. Usually a chaperone came with them, and they talked about formal things. Sometimes they teased each other about the silliness of it all. Other times they were awkward and blushing.

One day, when Arya was thirteen, she and Gendry walked out to the wall that overlooked the sea. The water was rippling blue, and there was a nice breeze. Septa Mordane stayed at a distance, apparently satisfied with their two years of chaste conduct. They leaned over the stone and watched the waves crash against the rocks.

Arya didn't know what made the question come into her head, but it was no sooner there than on her lips and she was saying it.

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?" Gendry asked. He was taller now. Eighteen. Stronger too, if that was possible. A man fully grown, his thick hair trimmed better now, and there was a hint of a beard that would have been thick and full if he did not shave it off. He was quite handsome.

"You know," Arya said, hitting him. "Being... With a woman."

Gendry nearly choked. He looked like he might fall over the wall and into the sea. He had obviously not been expecting her to ask such a brazen question, and he sputtered, as if unsure of how to even answer such a question.

"The truth is..." Gendry, to Arya's surprise, looked extremely bashful, a blush licking over his already flushed face. She blinked, waiting. "The truth is I have never been with a woman," he said in rush, not meeting her gaze.

"Truly?" She asked, throughly shocked. Gendry was good looking, witty and charming when he wasn't determined to be stand-offish and aloof, and once more, women really liked him. Even older ones. She had assumed that by now he had far exceeded loosing his virtue. Most young men did. Most men did.

He nodded.

"But... But... You have-That is," she felt her cheeks in turn heat up with a blush. "Many a young man far less fairer than yourself have lain with women by your age."

Once the words had escaped her mouth she hung her head in deep embarrassment at her unthoughtful blurting. No true lady would say such rash things. But then again, Arya had hardly ever been a true lady. Gendry remained silent, and the silence burned into her flesh. Perhaps she had spoken in haste. Perhaps he was angry with her.

"It is true," he said, and to Arya's immense relief, he chuckled.

"And I'm sure you are not for want of opportunities," she blurted out again.

Gendry laughed.

"You flatter me, Arya," he said kindly.

"I did not mean to."

He barked with laughter.

"That is to say, I know a lady should not say such things," she said quickly, Sansa's words about being Queen ringing in her head. "Insulting or complimenting your vanity is not something that is appropriate or polite."

Gendry looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"You sound like Sansa," he teased.

"I should," Arya admitted. "Those are her exact words."

Gendry's eyebrows raised higher.

"Since when have you ever listened to Sansa?" He asked. "What else has she advised you to do?"

"Spend less time alone with you," Arya said with a laugh. "Why? We are to be married, it's not improper," Gendry frowned.

"She thinks it improper for me to spend so much time with a male that is not my brother," Arya explained. "Especially since we are to be married. She tells me it will be a slight to my virtuous reputation."

Gendry smiled and shook his head.

"Court," he mused, going to sit down on a stone bench. Arya followed suit. "What a pretentious life we live. It is not what is truly happening that is important, but rather what appears to be happening."

"She has my best interests at heart," Arya said in defense, thinking of what Ned had said at dinner the evening before. He too had raised a question as to the appropriateness of the time she and Gendry spent together. "Even my father has spoken of our conduct. The girl who becomes a Queen should be a virgin.

"Well then he is also,for a man appearing to be so wise, acting foolish. Anyone with good sense would not dare touch you, daughter of Lord Stark," Gendry said, kicking some dust with his toe. "Even the crown prince."

"He is not being foolish!" Arya snapped. "Many court girls have fallen for the tricks of men and lost their virtue! He is trying to make sure that that sorry fate does not befall me!"

"What does he think I'm after? Seducing you?" His voice rose along with his accusations. Gendry looked furious. "He thinks I cannot wait for marriage? That perhaps my lust is like my fathers?"

"How dare you?" Arya asked, leaping to her feet.

"How dare I? My lady, let me remind you, it is my honor he has insulted!" Gendry responded by leaping to his feet as well.

"And let me remind you, Your Grace, of your words not moments ago. Did you not say that the court is a place of treachery? And is it not only fitting for my father to look out for those who wish me ill?" Arya shot back.

"So now you accuse me of wishing you ill as well! Shall I be villain of the court?" Gendry yelled.

"No!" Arya protested. "No! Gendry, you let your temper take hold of you, it really is not fair!"

He paused, seeing her wretched expression, and stilled his argument.

"I'm sorry Arya," he said, breathing heavily in recovery from his anger. "I never meant to say all those things about your father... It's just, I truly... I would never treat you with such disrespect. My intentions are entirely honorable."

"I know," she said softly. "Nor would I ever accuse you of such a thing."

"You are right," he admitted, "I should not let my temper take hold of me in such a way. It was unfair of me to say such things."

"I daresay I should do the same," Arya blushed. "I suppose we both ought to watch our tongues."

"Perhaps this is why we are such great friends," he teased, putting a bit of hair behind her ear. Her skin tingled as the tips of his fingers ghosted her cheek. She did not understand why. But Gendry was right. They were friends, despite all the silliness. Best friends, even.

"I would never part company with you Gendry," she said earnestly, "no matter what anyone says. It matters not in my heart."

He smiled.

They sat back down, surveying the sea again. Her eyes alit on a hawk, soaring in swooping, calculated circles, looking with sharp eyes and talons for its prey. She wondered what it was doing so close to the sea.

"Why?" She found the question sprang from her lips as quickly as it had to her mind.

"Why what?" Gendry said, giving her a playful shove.

"Why didn't you, I mean..." She cut herself off, shame creeping into her cheeks.

"Why haven't I sought out a woman's favors?" He said, giving her a teasing shove.

"Well... Yes," she blushed for what would seem to be the hundredth time that day. Really, she was in danger of having her face stay the color of roses for all eternity.

"I... I don't know," he admitted, his brow furrowed in the stupid expression he adopted when he was thinking. "Maybe to prove that I'm nothing like him."

"Your father?" Arya asked. He nodded, not looking at her, still lost in thought.

"Perhaps... Perhaps you are waiting for a certain lady?" She offered teasingly, her heart beginning to beat wildly within her breast. It wouldn't hurt her, she decided. There was nothing between them but friendship for now, besides, she was thirteen, far too young for marriage. And when they did marry... Well they could still be just friends, couldn't they? She didn't want anything to ruin that.

He looked over at her, straight into her eyes.

"Oh besides you?"

"You can't be waiting for me," Arya reasoned in a very matter-of-fact voice. "You'd go blind."

He barked with laughter. Tears streamed from his eyes.

"Perhaps," he said.

"And who might this lady be?" Her breath was choking her throat.

"Ah ha ha," he chuckled, "that is my secret."

"Bu you must tell me!" She protested in anguish.

"And why is that? It is bad manners, is it not, to tell of ones secrets?" Gendry said roguishly, enjoying her torment.

"Indeed you are mistaken!" Arya said at once. "It would be bad manners not to tell me your secret!"

"I doubt that very much milady," he chortled.

"I am to be your wife!"

"More the reason to keep it a secret," he said and she shoved him.

"Well, if you're determined to be stupid and will not tell me who she is, would you tell me why she rejects your advances?" She pressed eagerly.

"It is not that," he said, suddenly dropping his amused expression.

"Then what is it?" she asked, at a loss.

"Arya," he chuckled, "is your mind so degraded that you cannot imagine a love without physical touch?"

Her cheeks burned with shame and her eyes smarted with a wave of unexpected tears.

"I did not mean..."

Her speech was cut off as he placed his hand over her own.

"Arya," he said softly. "Don't be distraught."

"I am not distraught!" She said, wrenching her hand away and leaping to her feet, storming off a few paces before turning to face him. "I was merely curious. But you are right, it was unladylike for me to behave in such a way. Men and women must guard their chastity and not share it with others. Especially their future King."

"Curious," Gendry smiled, cocking his head to one side. "I think that is what Septa Mordane fears most in you."

"I beg your pardon?" Arya was at a loss for where the conversation had taken a turn. One moment she had been talking about guarding chastity, what was Gendry talking about? Was he even listening to her at all?

"I'm sure she has told you that young ladies ought not to be curious," he said, standing up and coming towards her.

She took a step back.

"She might have," Arya admitted.

"And yet... I doubt if you hear her at all," he said, but his voice was different. Whispery.

"I don't listen to anyone really," Arya said, but her voice faltered. She suddenly felt a whoosh of something and her whole body began to tingle and thrill. Her heart beat wildly within her breast and for a moment, for one mad moment, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

She took another step back.

"Don't," she said, though she did not know what she wished him to not do.

"Don't what?" He asked, still drawing nearer.

"I... I..." she found herself suddenly unable to say anything more. Gendry was so close to her she could almost feel his heart beating wildly, like hers, under the thick linen of his shirt. Another strong, forbidden desire unfolded within her to reach out and trace her fingers along his chest. She didn't understand it. She had never thought anything like this before. She did not like it one bit.

She blinked.

She was supposed to be saying something here. He was looking at her expectantly. And yet she could not find the words. Arya Stark, tongue tied. Normally he would tease her. She wanted him to tease her and maybe give her a good shove. For the first time she was suddenly aware of how her body was changing. How she was beginning to look like a woman grown.

"I must go," she stepped away a rush of cold air swept between them. "Septa Mordane will be expecting me for my lessons and I cannot be late again."

"Of course," Gendry said, suddenly changed. The flustered air that had been crackling around him moments before had vanished. Perhaps she had imagined it. "I would not want to keep you."

Arya curtseyed, he bowed and she was off, walking away from him. And though she was walking away, his face still burned clear in her mind. She had not imagined it, the change. Gendry would never look at her in the same way again.

Now, as he took his leave of her to speak with his mother, it was hard to imagine him as he had been. There was more of his uncle Stannis engrained in Gendry's skin, a hard coldness that had developed rapidly in the last few years. He used to be much like Renley or even his father, but Arya supposed that was more her fault than anyone else's. Maybe Cersei had some play in it too. She wanted her smiling stupid blacksmith prince back, but that meant that she would also have to be young again. She would have to change too.

Arya decided that she should go and see Sansa, as her elder sister had been giving her that look she administered nearly a thousand times a day, and she would be more cross if Arya didn't go set it right and agree with her. Yes, how beastly she had been. How very unladylike. She had seen the error in her ways. Reform would soon follow.

"I was wondering when you'd come," Sansa sighed, not looking up from her embroidery as Arya entered the room. Ned sat at a table draped in darkness, bent over a large book, his face drawn tight with seriousness. Arya went to him and kissed him, but he barely seemed to notice her. He had been so withdrawn since Jon Arryn died.

"Really Arya," Sansa said with a sigh, unable to resist a good lecture. "Must you always be so... So..."

"Right?" Arya offered.

Sansa glared. Clearly that was not the word she was looking for.

"I was going to say peevishly stubborn," her elder sister said, setting down her embroidery.

"Why can't I have a say in what goes on my body?" Arya demanded. "Seven Hells, it's my wedding!

"Don't be foolish," Sansa snapped bluntly. "It's not your wedding, it's the crown's wedding, so you might as well accept that and form a stiff upper lip or we'll have to tie you up and drag you down the aisle."

At this point, Arya mused, she could see that happening.

"Oh goodness Arya," Sansa said with a sigh. "Can't you at least pretend?"

"No," Arya snapped grumpily, annoyed with Sansa for even asking.

"You know he's excited about it," Sansa pressed with delicate purpose. "He tries to hide it, for your sake, but anyone could see it..."

"I don't see why he would be," Arya grumbled. "I'm going to be a failure at marriage. He'll probably wish he had settled for the pig we'll be eating this evening."

Sansa snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Oh stop it," she said. "It's so obvious you love him, even a blind man could see it."

Actually, Arya was sure of the opposite. It was painfully obvious that she did not love him. Everyone knew. Worse, Gendry knew. She hated that Sansa had even brought it up now. Every time Arya thought of it, it was like a stabbing pain.

"I know you think you don't," Sansa said, looking at her younger sister. "And everyone else believes you, but I don't. I know you better than they do."

"Then you know me better than I do," Arya said softly, playing with the tassels on her robe. Sansa took her hand gently.

"It's just because he's grey area," Sansa said knowledgeably. "That's why you have such a hard time."

"Grey area?" Arya repeated with a raised, dubious eyebrow.

"Everything is black and white to you," Sansa declared.

"It is not!" Arya protested, but her sister shook her head.

"It is. The North is good. The South is bad. You love our family, but you hate the Lannisters. Father is honorable, Cersei is evil. It's just, well Gendry doesn't fit anywhere in there, does he? He's from the South, so he must be bad, but he isn't, is he? He's of Lannister blood, but you don't hate him. But, at the same time, he isn't from the North and he isn't a Stark. He's grey area," Sansa explained so perfectly that Arya wondered if she couldn't read minds. She hated to admit that her older sister was right... But how could she not? It was true. All of it. That was why Gendry was so difficult to work out in her head.

"The sooner you come to realize that grey area is good, the better," Sansa said gently, giving Arya's hand a squeeze. "The world isn't cut in half, little sister."

For some reason, Jon's words floated back to her just then. "There's more to life than form."And, well, this was the same, wasn't it? Sansa was right. It was time for a change. If only it were that easy.

"I know," Arya sighed. "I know. And he... He's a good man."

"That he is," Sansa agreed.

"And I... I..." The words were on the tip of her tongue, and she wanted to say them. They were so simple. But they weren't coming out.

I love him. Why was it so difficult? Was it that they weren't true? But how could she tell if they were?

"Would you like me to help you get ready for the feast?" Sansa asked, saving her. "I could braid your hair.

"Yes," Arya sighed with relief. "Yes I would."

Sansa made her lovely, as she always did. She braided Arya's hair in the Northern style, and had her dress in blue, which always suited her well. Arya remembered one time Cersei had tried to dress her in pink, and that had been a ghastly affair. From then on, Sansa had done her up for formal things. Her elder sister knew just how to add the right amount of Northern touch to Arya while still staying true to the Southern way of things. She would have made such a lovely Queen, Arya thought as she watched Sansa work with her wild hair in the reflection of the mirror. It felt so cruel to have taken that from her.

They walked down to the feast with Ned in tow, still looking lost and unsure. Sansa looked lovely too, with robes of pink and lavender that, with anyone else's coloring, would have looked awful. On her it looked stunning. As they were about to enter the great hall, Arya spotted a ripple of blonde hair, and saw the Queen going down a corridor. Gritting her teeth, she bayed Sansa and her father to go in without her. It was time to swallow her pride and apologize to her odious good mother. She cringed at the thought of Cersei's smug face.

Just think of how pleased Gendry will be, she told herself as she walked down the corridor.

Something made her slow her steps.

There were whispers, and Arya got a sudden, twisting and cold feeling in her stomach. It was the Queen's voice, and someone else's.

"... It must be done before he gets here," hissed a voice that was familiar. It was Jaime Lannister, the Queen's brother.

"Yes I know," Cersei said in a low, cold voice. "But you don't know what he's asking me to do..."

"Don't tell me now you have feelings for that man," Jaime scoffed.

"No!" Cersei snarled, and there was something in her voice... Arya edged closer, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her blood running thin. "But Jaime, it's not just him... You know it's not just him... And if I don't... Father-"

There was a gasp, and Arya jumped. Her shadow fell against the opposite wall. They knew she was there.

There was a whisper, and then Cersei whipped around the corner, her eyes livid and teeth bared cold and hard. Arya had never been afraid of her before, but there was something else at play here, and she found herself backed up against the wall with the Queen pinning her there, cold sharp rage flashing in her eyes so fierce that Arya could barely breathe.

"What did you hear?" Cersei demanded with a spitting snarl.

"Nothing!" Arya protested, though she had heard something, but now she could barely remember it her heart was pounding in her chest so hard.

"What were you doing here then? Did Ned Stark send you to spy on me?" Cersei demanded, her fingers digging into Arya's arms like claws.

"No!" Arya whispered hoarsely. "No I only came to apologize!"

"Apologize?" Cersei blinked in confusion.

"For my conduct today," Arya croaked. "With the wedding dress."

Cersei slinked back against her feet and released Arya, looking relieved. But Arya still felt pinned to the wall. Fear cuts deeper than swords.

"As you should," Cersei spat. Jaime Lannister had melted away somewhere, and the Queen looked strangely small without him. "Just the same, if I catch you sneaking around corners again, I'll have it seen to that the next time you visit Flea Bottom on your way back from the Red Keep you'll not come back so pretty as you are now. Do I make myself clear?"

There was something dark and deep in that threat. Something that crawled under Arya's skin. Something... More. After the Queen swept from the corridor, Arya stood there, paralyzed, gasping for breath, her heart beating so fast and hard that she thought she might be ill. Her hands shook. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she whispered to herself, trying to still her breathing.

"Arya!"

It was Gendry. He looked fine in his formal clothes, a grey tunic with a gold and black vest and jacket. A ringlet sat buried in his messy hair. Instinct almost had her flinging herself at him like some hysterical woman. Instead she took a deep breath and stood, smoothing out her dress.

"What are you doing over here?" He asked, smiling obliviously, coming towards her. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said cheerily. "I was just waiting for you."

"Were you?" Something in Gendry's eyes told her he didn't believe her, but he did not press the matter. He offered her his arm and she took it, as smooth and calm as glass. Inside she was shaken.

"I thought it would be fitting if we went in together as the happy couple," she invented, the lie tasting bitter in her mouth. Why didn't she just tell him about what she had overheard? Something, like an invisible string, held her back.

"It's just as well," he said with a sigh. "We're required to lead the first dance."

"Oh another one," Arya muttered dryly as they went in, smiling and bowing as everyone stood and nodded in respect. Gendry led her onto the dance floor and gave her a side glance eye-roll that made her smile. She tried not to laugh as the music began to swell and he took her in his arms.

They began the dance, and Arya was reminded, almost against her will, of the time they had danced before. When she was fifteen. Gendry had been so different then. Almost another man entirely. A rogue, Arya had teased him once. Very much like Renley. The women had adored him, but it did not matter. The only one he ever looked at was her. He was looking at her again, like he had that day by the sea.

There was something else in the looks he was giving her. Something... Both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. His eyes were darker, and there was something behind them, something both powerful and frightening. They had a strange affect on her, those looks. A whoosh of excitement and fear would team within her, coupled with something else.

An unwanted heat would flow throughout her body, tinkling her skin and itching at her scalp. All the forbidden thoughts and desires would come back in a rush, causing Arya to expand so that her clothes no longer fit and she could barely breath. In those moments, she desired nothing more than for him to revert his gaze.

She had no idea what to make of it.

Arya could not tell Sansa, for she knew that she would not only disapprove, but also she might tell Ned, and he could be very protective sometimes. Besides, she did not want to tell anyone anyway. She did not even want to tell herself.

It was so vexing.

She found herself constantly thinking about him when he was absent, but when he was present, shying away from his gaze and his company. She wanted so very much to speak with him freely, as they used to, and yet she did not want that at all. Arya could not understand her feelings or her thoughts, she was perplexed and distraught by them. She hated all of this. Oh why couldn't they just be friends?

Such was her turmoil that she pretended to be ill so as to avoid court, but soon that would fail to work as well.

"Gendry is worried about you, Arya," Sansa said to her as Arya studied, of all things. Sansa had been giving her queer looks all evening because of it. Arya willingly studying The Proper Mannerisms of a Fine Lady? The sun would set in the east before that was normal. "He's been round here at least three times in the last two days, constantly asking after you. Even the King is worried. Maybe you need a proper maester, or some leeching."

Arya's head snapped up.

"No!" she said rather sharply, surprising her sister. "No, I am feeling a world better. I will dine with the court tonight, and no maester will be necessary."

"But if you are ill-"

Arya stood.

"I was feeling a bit over wrought this week," she lied. "I felt it best to dine alone for I would not be good company for the lords and ladies."

"Arya," Sansa sighed, flummoxed. "It is of greater insult to the King if you chose to dine without him than if you were to dine with him as poor company."

"I am sorry," Arya said softly, pretending to be ashamed, "but it could not be helped."

And without another word, she swept from the room to prepare her attire for dinner.

Her moments alone gave her some time to steel herself and prepare for what lay ahead. She was wary, to be sure, but she had to conquer these feelings. This strange world that Arya was suddenly swept up in. She must act as though everything was well. She was a wolf, not a turtle or a mouse. She would not be cowed by a boy who was supposed to be her friend.

With this in mind she picked out her grey frock, usually worn to praying with Sansa. It seemed appropriate, and maybe its connotations would dissuade Gendry from looking at her in such a way. One could only hope she thought as she went to the feast...

"You have been avoiding me."

Arya turned so quickly that she gave everything away. She had been watching the dancers, trying to stay out of sight, but Gendry was too clever for her. Anything else she said he knew would be a lie. His lips curled into a smirk. His eyes burned.

"I am sorry Gendry," Arya said briskly. "I haven't been well. I'm afraid you would find my company rather dull."

"Perhaps I would," he teased, "but I still would like to know why you throw off my company for that of others. Am I that intolerable? You have never thought so in the past."

"Gendry! You know that is not true!" she protested, but Gendry could sense the lie.

"Then dance with me."

His words were left hanging in the air, and Arya felt her heart beat so wildly in her chest that she might have been ill after all. She could not say no, for that would be rude beyond measure, but she did not dare say yes either.

He did not wait for a reply. He took her hand.

Their skin scorched like fire and Arya had to swallow the rapid breath within her throat so that she might seem to be unmoved by all of this. She could feel it, everyone's eyes on them, especially Gendry's. He never retracted his gaze. She glared at him, and he grinned, a flash of his usual self.

The music swelled, and he did not let go of her hand, but pulled her closer. Arya gasped quietly, in spite of herself. Gendry smirked slightly again.

"I've been worried about you, you know," he said softly as they began to move in time with the music.

"I am sorry to have caused you grievance, sir," Arya said politely, looking anywhere but his face. He tsked.

"So formal. Arya, this is not like you," he admonished teasingly.

"And this is not like you," she snapped quietly, growing tiresome of his effect on her, and how smug he looked every time she began to breathe beyond a normal rate.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Are we not dancing? Two old friends? Have we not danced before? And are we not engaged?" He rebuffed Arya, letting go of her hand as they wove in and out of the other dancers. As soon as he could, he took it again.

"Never like this," she said.

He looked straight into her eyes and she knew. Arya knew what she wanted.

To kiss him. To rove her fingers through his hair. To taste his tongue and scent and feel his body. Touching her.

She drew back at once in horror, but he held her close.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Don't what?"

His face was so close.

"I cannot-They'll see-"

"They will see what?" Gendry asked, drawing still nearer. "I see nothing wrong with our conduct."

Arya could not speak. She did not want to. She was afraid of the words in her head.

"Or, perhaps, you want to do something wrong."

She looked up, straight into his searing gaze, and saw what was hidden behind it.

But, to her surprise, she had nothing to worry about. Gendry suddenly drew back, his expression formal, and bowed. Without thinking Arya slumped into a curtsey, dumbstruck as he turned his back and walked away, completely untouched.

She could not understand it. She could not fathom it.

Confusion, hurt and anger spiked within her, and all at once she wished to love Gendry as she once had. This new form of love was so dangerous, for it did not seem to be love itself at all, but something completely different. And, standing like a fool in the middle of the dance floor, Arya, at fifteen years of age, was completely and utterly resolved that she should always endeavor to not love him like this at all.

Now, the strained distance that he held so resolutely between them only made her sad, not happy. But was it fair to lead Gendry on when she wasn't sure of the nature of her feelings? And she had so little time to sort them out, she realized as the dance pulled them swiftly apart. The wedding was fast approaching. Their wedding night...

"Arya are you all right?" Gendry asked as they came back together again. She tried to manage a smile.

"Yes of course," she said steadily. "I'm just terrified I'll... I'll tread on your toes again."

That would have been impossible at the distance he was holding her at. A pang went through Arya. For a split second, she felt like a child again and wanted to throw her arms around him and keep him with her always. What was wrong with her tonight? Gendry laughed.

"I think I'm more in danger of doing that," he said merrily. Arya tried not to feel the swelling in her chest, like crashing water, but suddenly it felt like everyone's eyes were on her, staring at her, boring into her. The world began to spin.

It was probably the strange atmosphere that she had felt when she came in, and her encounter with Cersei. It had left her quite shaken, and indeed, when she looked over at Cersei, and the hatred in her eyes... Usually Arya was more than a match for her future mother-in-law, but for some reason this was different. This had the chill of winter in it, but a different Winter then her tough Northern skin was used too.

"Arya?" Gendry's voice swam in her ears. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," she said through a false smile. "This stupid dress."

"It's almost over," he said, reassuring her. "I promise after this we can go eat as much pudding and cake until you explode out of that stupid dress."

Arya snorted with laughter.

"I'd love to see Cersei's face," she said sourly, shooting the Queen a quick dark look as they spun by the table. Cersei didn't even notice them. She seemed lost in her own world, which was a puzzling change. Arya hardly had time to ponder it.

"I daresay she's not as bad as you make her out to be," Gendry said with a sigh. "She's my mother, Arya."

"Yes I know," Arya said, and a shiver went up her spin. She wriggled uncomfortably, and Gendry, taking the wriggle to be a discomfort at their close proximity, spun her away, and then back again, smoothly holding her at a farther distance. He was just being kind, but for some reason it sent a flare of frustration through her. He used to be strong, she thought bitterly, until he fell in love with me.

"Did you apologize to her?" Gendry demanded testily.

"Yes," Arya snapped defensively.

"Good," Gendry said, but the tension between them had seemingly formed out of no where, and it crackled with bristling heat as the music swelled and then slowed to a stop. This was going no where good, Arya knew. They were both impossibly stubborn, even if Gendry was trying to be an honorable man. It was all boiling to a head, and it would explode between them one way or another, until they had said everything they ever wanted to say, and then, after, one of them would have to bend. And it wouldn't be Gendry. The thought made the wolf in her snarl.

He bowed, and she curtseyed. Hand in hand, they swept from the floor, graceful and elegant. The perfect royal couple.

"Yes! Yes! Good!" Robert, drunk, bellowed, clapping as he tried to get to his feet. His face was bright red, and his eyes glazed over. "Another!"

"You're drunk, father," Gendry said, an angry red crawling up his neck.

"Drunk? Shit on that! Of course I'm not drunk!" Robert laughed loudly. The hall was growing more and more hushed. Arya could sense Gendry's growing impatience. "The king is never drunk, everyone else just has a stick up his ass!"

He laughed heartily at that, and took another swig of wine, sloshing it down his shirt. A few other men laughed, but Ned Stark remained as Gendry, unmoved to mirth. He gave Arya a look, and she smiled slightly.

"Come along now Arya," Gendry said gently, pulling her away from Robert.

"What? No! Stay! Stay and dance another!" Robert commanded, his voice ringing around the hall. People were beginning to look, and the music could not drown out his bellowing tones. Gendry stopped and turned, and, with great difficulty, looked up at his father. Shame, disappointment, and stubborn anger mingled across his face, tangling together.

"Lady Arya does not want to dance another, Your Grace," he said, a slight tremble to his voice. He was gripping Arya's hand. She could feel his mounting anger like a tremor through their connected bodies. Ours is the fury, she thought wryly.

"Piss on that!" Robert said, and his blurry eyes fixed themselves on Arya. "Looks right like Lyanna, she does."

Cersei seemed to snap out of her trance, and there was a look of bitter contempt on her face, but humiliation there as well. Arya knew Gendry had seen the look, and his expression darkened considerably.

"Robert," Ned said gently, trying to cut across a scene that was becoming so toxic it was hard to breathe. Robert threw him off.

"Slobbering in love," he shouted at the room, "just like I was. But hang on boy! The Stark maidens are slippery little minxes. Fail to please her and you'll find she's slipped from your bed!"

Arya knew at once that something had broken. Ned was furious, but it was nothing, nothing compared to what Gendry looked like. She had never seen him so angry. He clutched her hand, as if to prove his father wrong, that she would not slip away. But his hands shook. His teeth gnashed together, bared.

"Apologize to Lady Arya," he said in a low, shaking voice.

Robert laughed mirthlessly.

"Ask the Lady to dance!" He commanded, swaying and colliding with the table. "Dance with your fair wolf maiden!"

"Robert take pause," Ned said, trying to force the King to sit down. "That's my daughter you've just insulted."

"A wild wolf!" Robert said bitterly. "Just like her aunt. She'll run away too. It's clear she has no love for him."

Arya felt, for the first time, the sting of his words.

"Apologize!" Gendry shouted. "I will not have you saying such things about her honor!"

Robert waved him off, drunkenly slumping down from the table, making to leave the hall. But, before Arya could stop him, Gendry was storming across the hall, grabbing his father with a fierce violence, and then he hit him. He hit the King. He struck him across the face with as much force as he could muster.

"You little shit!" The King bellowed. "You little ungrateful shit!"

Ned rushed to Gendry and grabbed him by both arms before he could strike his father again. Gendry did not fight him. He seemed to understand that his rashness had caused the scene he had been trying so hard to avoid. He roughly shrugged her father's hands from his arms, and then, face bent low, he went from the hall. Arya followed hurriedly after him. The stares of hundreds of noblemen scorched at her back.

"Gendry!" She called, running down the corridor after him. She grabbed his arm. He threw her off, but then paused, seeming to regain control of himself and his anger. "You stupid idiot!" she cried, slapping him across the face because suddenly she was angry too. "What you just did is punishable by death!"

"You think my own father would be my murderer?" Gendry asked bitterly, his hand on the place where she had hit him. Arya opened her mouth to say something and then felt the words die in her throat. She sighed.

"No," she said, taking pause. "Of course not."

There was a moment of strained silence between them. I wanted to dance with you today, Arya wanted to say, but that was stupid and silly because she had danced with him. They had danced a proper dance, everyone had seen them and besides, she hated dancing.

"You shouldn't have lost your temper," she scolded him.

"I had to defend your honor," Gendry said, his eyes dark with anger that lingered there. His face was red where she had hit him.

"Oh my honor's not that important," Arya said, rolling her eyes. She was getting so tired of her bloody honor. Bright anger flashed across Gendry's face.

"You liked him talking about you like that?" He demanded. "He accused you of straying from our marriage bed!"

"Well I haven't," Arya snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I won't, if that's what you're wondering."

"I wasn't," Gendry said, but he didn't meet her eyes. She glared.

"I hate you," she suddenly burst out. Gendry whipped around. "You're so stubborn! You're determined to believe the worst of me."

He had the good grace to look ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he sighed earnestly. "It has been a long day Arya."

"It's been a long several years," she said. "And it will continue to be a long several years until we die."

Gendry looked over at her. Such exhaustion... Yet such strength. He was ground down, yes, but at the same time... Well he was still Gendry, wasn't he? He reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder. Automatically, without thought, she placed her hand over his. I wish you didn't have to be the crown prince, she thought to herself. I wish I didn't have to be Queen.

But wishing was for summer children, and winter was coming.

**More on exactly what went on between Robert and Ned about the engagement, and how Gendry ended up making Needle for Arya next chapter. Hope you enjoyed it =) Coming up next is the tourney, and I'm so excited to write it. **


	3. Love and Beauty

**Updating this was a beast I'll tell you. It's over 20 pages in content and fight scenes take so long for me to write, I don't know why. Anyway I hope you enjoy. The song "King's Arrival," from the series soundtrack and 'To glory' by two steps from hell were largely listened to, as well as the new daughter album. **

Gendry

The night air had a slight nip of chill as it breezed through Gendry's open window, the curtains rustling in a soft whisper. Winter was coming, he thought in a hushed voice inside his head as he lay there on the bed, unable to sleep. He had, for a short time, but his dreams had been restless and confused. When he awoke something in the dark morning, he couldn't remember what they were. Racking his brain was useless. Deep dreams like that never stayed with him.

He wished for sleep, but there would be none. His mind was alive, spinning. Today was the day of the tourney. Today was the day he would never crown Arya Queen of Love and Beauty.

He had known he would never set the crown on her head for some time. Ever since he had heard of the tourney taking place. It had nothing to do with Arya not wanting the crown, though he could hardly wonder why she would, or even him. It was simply because he wasn't the best competitor out there. A valiant fighter, a descent warrior, yes all that. But there was the Mountain, and his uncle Jaime. How could he even compare himself to them?

He got to his feet, the skin of his soles gasping at the cold stone as he made his way to the window. The city breathed silence, and as he gazed out across the vast quantity of land and water, he could see a thin hush of light whispering at the place where the ocean met the horizon. It was a blissfully peaceful moment, but Gendry knew the peace was tainted. Tainted with something else. Something inside him.

Somehow, he knew she would be up as well. He didn't even question himself as he left his chambers and walked down the halls. She was sitting in an empty room, crouched in the window. Needle was in her hand, and a sword was on the floor, waiting for him. If she heard him come in, she didn't say, or move to recognize him. She just sat there, limbs jaunt and tight, yet so relaxed at the same time. She too gazed out at the city, her form outlined with a strip of fading moonlight.

For a moment, he stilled himself to how beautiful she was. Long, wild hair tossed over her shoulders that were thin yet so strong. Instinct told him to go wrap his arms around her and forget about the thing within his stomach, but experience taught him better. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You couldn't sleep?" He asked, his voice cracking slightly. She didn't answer him for a long moment and then looked over at him, staring at him for a long time.

"I was just picturing what a big idiot you'll make of yourself today," she said, always the quips. She never failed, did she? "The horror kept me awake all night."

"I'm sure it did," Gendry said with a laugh.

She slipped from the window and stood there, in breeches and a shift, legs held firmly apart, Needle lax in her arms.

"I thought we could practice," she said. "We always practice before a tourney."

"I know," Gendry replied and she smiled slightly. He picked up his sword. "I don't think it's fair though, this sword is heavy, Needle is thin..."

"If you break Needle you can fix it," Arya said, snapping into her stance like a cat. Gendry did the same, though much less gracefully. "Now at the ready."

He obeyed, his gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes were steady and focused, determined. He saw himself go from Gendry to her pupil in a matter of seconds. She would be merciless. He needed merciless.

Arya was never so alive than when they were sparring. Every time their swords clashed, her eyes sparked with such a wild, wonderful and magnificent passion and life. Gendry had often wondered if it was almost her form of making love. The power that hummed through their clanging steel, the anticipation and strength that worked in their bones as they danced together ruthlessly, dodging and striking, filled her with a sort of light. She was the sun, the stars, the moon. A wolf.

"You're not trying hard enough!" Arya hissed through gritted teeth. "You're playing too fair!"

Before Gendry could even respond she swept up her blade and twirled neatly away from the fight, looking almost disgusted. There was a moment as she stood there, her hair wild and plastered to her sweating face, and Gendry tried to catch the breath that was running dry in his throat.

"It's because I'm a woman-"

"It's because I don't want to ruin that bit of steel!" Gendry cut across her hotly. "If I hit it too hard, it'll break. This sword is too strong."

Arya gave him a look that told him she wasn't convinced. Gendry sighed.

"I made that sword remember," he said sternly, softening slightly at the memory of it. He had been in the forge, escaping an awkward family breakfast, when Jon Snow had come in. Gendry could still remember his face, flushed with a humiliation at having been a bastard caught in the presence of a prince. "It's the only thing I've ever made for you."

That sword was Arya. The steel had been melded and forged with her face in his head, the strange little northern girl who was like no one he had ever met before. To break the sword, to harm Needle, seemed almost like harming Arya.

"Fine," she said, swiping up the wooden swords. "We'll practice with these."

She tossed him one and he caught it (abet not very gracefully). He swung it around, locked into place and mirrored her. There was a moment's pause, and then she leapt at him again. Gendry struck back, hard.

He nearly knocked her off her feet with the force of his blow. She stumbled, but only for a moment. She quickly changed her tactics, dodging instead of striking, evading him when he meant to strike and keeping him alert and aware as she spun around and twirled, almost like dancing, her sword jutting out at the last second. Gendry tried to keep his footwork as he attempted to block her, but his body was thick and he was stumbling, still holding out but stumbling. _Use your strength, _he thought, his grip hot and tight against the splintering wood of the sword, face pulled deep in determination and concentration.

When she made her next move, he brought down his sword against hers with as much force as he could muster. It splintered in her hands and she was knocked to her feet, sprawling against the ground. Gendry rushed towards her, her hand was bleeding, but she rolled around, grinning.

"Now that," she said through gasps of breath, "…that was a fair fight."

Eyes alive, she held out her hand and let Gendry pull her to her feet.

"You are mad," Gendry told her. "An utterly mad woman."

"And you're late," Arya said, looking out the window at the city below, and the sky that had turned pink with the rising sun. "Myrcella won't be pleased."

No, she certainly wouldn't.

"I still have time," Gendry reassured her. It wouldn't have been that late anyway. "I'll see you at the tourney."

He laid a hand on her shoulder without thinking, and Arya looked down at it. Her shoulder was so small, he could cup it in his palm. Smiling, Gendry let his hand slide off as he passed, and when he turned back to give her a wave, he saw her standing and looking out the window, her hand on her shoulder where his had been.

"Brother!" Myrcella looked very pretty indeed as she rushed towards Gendry, who had just entered his chambers, a strawberry in her hand, and flung her arms around him. She wrinkled her nose at once and let go, making a face. "Ugh, you're all sweaty. What have you been doing?"

"What are you doing up so early?" Gendry neatly avoided her question. "I didn't expect you until-"

"Now?" Myrcella offered, finishing her strawberry. "It's nearly mid-morning."

"It is not," Gendry protested, but the sun was well up and he was hardly dressed, or washed. He hadn't eaten anything either and he was starving.

"Morning," Tommen said, who had barely lifted his head from the large quantity of food that was on the table. Myrcella, as per usual, had ordered quite the feast. Tommen, as per usual, was eating most of it.

"Did you even save any for me?" Gendry asked, pushing his little brother's head aside to look at the food.

"Yes," Tommen mumbled through a mouthful of fruit. "There's some cheese over there and a bit of ham."

"Oh Tommen tell me you haven't eaten all the little tarts already!" Myrcella cried in true distress, rushing to the table.

"You never said I shouldn't!" Tommen protested as Gendry laughed, going round the table to get his plate and fill it heavily. Myrcella swatted Tommen about the head and sat down with a huff, picking up another strawberry and eating it.

"Is Joffrey joining us?" Gendry joked and Myrcella snorted. It was sort of a tradition of theirs, before any tourney or name day to take breakfast together before as the royal siblings. Joffrey, however, always refused to come.

"He says he's feelings poorly," Tommen munched.

"What a surprise," Gendry said drily and both Myrcella and Tommen chuckled. Gendry filled his glass with milk (Myrcella refused him wine. _Not before a tourney_, she would insist. He needed his wits about him). It would have a dash of honey and cinnamon in it, he knew. Myrcella was quite the expert on planning exquisite breakfasts.

"So," she said as Gendry sat down to eat, "where were you this morning? I asked everywhere and no one seemed to know."

"No one?" Gendry mumbled as he nibbled on some toast. "Surely not. Not in this city."

"Well I would have asked Littlefinger or Varys if I _really_ wanted to know," Myrcella snapped. "But that would be a waste since I'm sure I can guess."

"Then why bother asking?" Tommen wanted to know. Gendry shook a sausage at him in agreement, giving Myrcella a pointed look as she rolled her eyes.

"You were with Arya Stark, weren't you?"

"Oh," Tommen said at once, looking revolted. "I'd rather not know."

"Shut up," she cut at him, thoroughly annoyed. "Well? Were you?"

"I thought you knew," Gendry said, slapping on a healthy portion of jam to his toast and refusing to look up at her because he knew the smirk that would be on her face.

"It's much more satisfying hearing it from you," Myrcella informed him. "Oh come on Gendry! I'm right! I'm right, aren't I?"

Gendry sighed and shook his head at her, her eyes already lighting bright with her victory.

"Yes," he relented.

"I knew it!" She squealed, delighted, then suddenly serious. "What were you doing?"

"Oh," Tommen said again, the look of disgust on his face. "I would really rather not know."

She hit him.

Gendry shrugged.

"Just sparing," he grunted, pretending to look thoroughly uninterested. It did not work.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Tommen inquired with a shudder.

"No," Gendry said sharply with much annoyance. "It means what I said. We were practicing. For today."

"In the wee hours of the morning?" she said unconvinced.

"You have been listening to too many songs," Gendry told her, taking a swig of his milk. He had been right. There was cinnamon and honey. "Life isn't like that, you know."

"I'm allowed to listen to too many songs," Myrcella said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I'm a princess. And besides, can't I think it's nice? Can't a sister be concerned for her beloved brother's happiness?"

Gendry laughed.

"I'm serious!" she insisted, somewhat put down.

"I'm sure you are," Gendry reassured her. "Be that as it may... Must you ask so many questions?"

"I like Arya," Myrcella said, ignoring him. "She's funny and she plays a wicked game of badminton."

"I am sure she does," Gendry sighed. He could only imagine.

"You make a lovely couple," she added thoughtfully. "My handmaiden says you're quite popular with the small folk."

"That's because of the time Arya stopped to play in the puddles with the street children that one day on the way home from the Red Keep," Gendry said, laughing at the very memory. That had been quite the day.

"Yes," she smiled as well. "Mother was so mad."

"I've never seen her face go so red," Tommen observed. "Like a tomato."

Gendry felt the memory sour a bit. Yes, Cersei had been positively reeking with fury about that. He often thought of that moment as the beginning of the end between his mother and his bride to be. Arya had only been thirteen at the time, she hardly knew better, still just a child herself in so many ways, in others not. In a sense, he thought now as he looked at his food, it had been the beginning of the end with himself and Cersei as well. Every time Arya and his mother clashed... The deeper the gulf cut between him and her. Cersei just seemed to take it as a personal betrayal, though he could not understand it. He tried, he tried _so hard_ to stay in the middle, but it did not matter to her. It did not matter because he had chosen a Stark. He had chosen a wolf over a lion in her eyes. She _hated_ the Starks. She hated him.

It hadn't always been like this, Gendry had often thought bitterly. When he was young, he remembered vaguely his father tossing him in the air, his throaty laugh and fat fingers. Gendry had adored that huge, booming giant that to him was the greatest king that had ever lived. His father was so much larger than life, he had almost been a god, and he would sit Gendry on his massive knee and tell him vicious war stories of times long ago. Robert's affection lasted longer than Cersei's. There were memories, vague hints and whispers, of her singing to him as she held him in her arms, but they were only ghosts. Gendry was nearly three when Joffrey was born, and with his birth, everything changed. He could not explain it.

It was as though... It was as though Joffrey was everything better for his mother and everything worse for his father. Joffrey hated Robert when he was a baby. He cried and screamed whenever the King tried to hold him, so soon Robert stopped trying to hold him at all. But with Cersei it was the complete opposite. She loved him fiercely. He was her beautiful lion, golden haired and green eyed. A pure Lannister. It was almost as if there was not a single blood of Baratheon in him, while Gendry was all Robert.

He understood it now, as an adult, why his appearance had caused such grief for him. He had never understood as a child. He had cried, admittedly, quite a bit about it because he had thought it was something about him; that there must have been something wrong with _him_. How was he to know how toxic the marriage between the King and Queen grew with every coming year? And how was he to know that every time his mother looked at him, she saw his father, the source of all her misery and entrapment? Gendry knew it now, though. He knew it now and it made him so very bitter and angry inside. Not at them, but at himself. _I hated my father for trapping her,_ he thought, _but he was trapped as well, with her. And I hate myself now for doing that to Arya._

"Still," Myrcella said a tad bit too cheerfully, instantly picking up at the turn his thoughts had taken, "it will be quite thrilling when you crown her Queen of Love and Beauty."

"_If_ I crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty," Gendry corrected her.

"He's going up against the Knight of Flowers _and_ the Mountain," Tommen interjected, reminding Myrcella. "At least uncle Jaime's sitting this one out, or Gendry would really be beaten."

"Thank you for your shining faith in my capabilities," Gendry said sarcastically. Tommen merely grinned.

"Are you going in today as well?" Myrcella wanted to know.

"No," Tommen said with a scoff. "It's not my name day. Mother only lets me go in and joust with a scarecrow on my name day. I'm not old enough yet."

"Joffrey's nineteen," Gendry sneered with disgust. "And still he finds ways to avoid the saddle and sword. Any fight that's fair, and there's no sign of him."

"But that's just Joffrey isn't it?" Myrcella tried to brush it off, but for some reason an incredible anger and hate was boiling inside Gendry as he stared down at his remaining milk, his hand clenched around the goblet. It was probably all the tension before the fight, and from the night before. The wedding, and all its resulting pain and anxiety. But he could not shake the feeling.

He was lucky he didn't have to say anything, for the door open, and his uncle Renly appeared.

"What?" He said in false dismay. "No more breakfast?"

"Not with these two," Myrcella said, jabbing Tommen's round side with her finger.

"I'm storing up for winter," Tommen explained through a mouthful of berries. Renly laughed, and then he spotted Gendry.

"What on earth are you doing?" Gendry blinked.

"Eating," he said stupidly.

"Yes I can see that," Renly snapped. "What you should be doing is getting up off your ass and changing, which is what you were supposed to have done an hour ago! What have you been doing? We should be down getting your armor on by now, practicing for the tourney!"

"I've already been practicing," Gendry said thoughtlessly as he got up to go change. He cringed inwardly.

"Oh was that what you were doing with Lady Arya?" Myrcella said, catching it like she always did. She was far too quick.

"Lady Arya?" Renly gasped with an air of someone totally scandalized.

"Shut up the lot of you," Gendry grumbled as he went behind the screen to change into a new tunic and breeches.

"Nephew, nephew," Renly teased. "What will the court gossips say?"

"Nothing they haven't said already," Gendry grunted flatly.

"True, we aren't a very original lot are we?" Renly said with a dramatic sigh and Myrcella giggled.

"Tell me Uncle Renly," she said as Gendry came out from behind the screen, doing up his belt. "Is it true that Ser Loras has truly decided to join the Kingsguard?"

"That he has," Renly replied, suddenly very disinterested in what she had to say. "I say," he said to Gendry as he fumbled with his boots. "Don't you have someone to do that for you? Where's that good-for-nothing squire of yours anyway?"

"He's more of a personal baker," Gendry mumbled as he at last succeeded in his struggle to get his foot inside his boot.

"He made our breakfast," Myrcella piped up.

"Hrmmm," Renly said, thoroughly unimpressed. "Well hurry up or we'll have to put you out in the arena without armor."

"And then you'll never crown Arya Queen of Love and Beauty!" Myrcella said.

"The horror," Gendry muttered under his breath as he grabbed his cloak, and then he and Renly bid both his siblings goodbye, Tommen still eating what was left of the pudding.

"You don't seem too enthusiastic about the prospect of crowning your new bride," Renly observed.

"And you were very keen to change the subject when Myrcella brought up Ser Loras," Gendry counteracted, eager to avoid any subject including Arya. At the moment, they were starting to give him a headache. Renly looked disgruntled.

"Really?" He said dispassionately. "I hadn't thought so."

"Did it have something to do with you wanting to avoid discussion of his courtship of Lady Sansa?" Gendry pressed, enjoying the look of ill humor and annoyance on his uncle's face. Out of all his uncles, Gendry tended to enjoy Renly the most. He had an easy way about him, and they were the closet in age, but not temperament or taste. Still, Renly had an easy way about him, a certain comfortable nature and mirth that Stannis and Robert lacked.

"There has been no courtship of Lady Sansa," Renly snapped.

"Oh I know," Gendry grinned. "Not on Loras's part, not really. But he has made a few grandiose gestures of love towards her. Last time we had a tourney, he gave her a red flower, one that 'paled starkly in comparison to such a maiden fair, whose beauty and radiance—'"

"Yes, yes," Renly said in irksome tones, cutting Gendry off. "Would you deny her beauty?"

"No," Gendry answered honestly. "Sansa is one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros. She is also kind, and of a good heart."

"I would remind you that it is Willas who actively seeks her hand," Renly said haughtily. Gendry sighed.

"Yes I know," he said. "And he will get it too, I have no doubt. A marriage of Sansa Stark to the heir of Highgarden, with my impending nuptials to Arya, will secure the complete and perfect balance of power amongst the strongest families in the Seven Kingdoms. Myrcella is to be engaged to Trystane Martell when she comes of age, and I have no doubt that Tommen's marriage will only strengthen the bonds that hold us all together."

"Then what have you to complain about?" Renly wanted to know.

"Nothing I suppose," Gendry said with a frown as they walked down towards the tents. "It's just something seems wrong."

"What do you mean?" Renly pressed.

For a moment, Gendry considered telling him everything. Of his strange feeling, of his mother's tears and his underlying gut knowledge that there was something Arya wasn't telling him. Of Ned Stark and Jon Arryn and everything that just seemed to be rotting away under the golden surface. But what was there to say? He had no proof, no evidence. It was all just speculation, but dangerous speculation. Speculation he had to keep to himself.

"I care about Lady Sansa," he said instead.

"You _care_ about Lady Sansa?" Renly sputtered in indignation.

"She is like a sister to me," Gendry said quickly, though in ways Sansa wasn't. There was too much distance between them for any sort of bond like that. "I respect her. She's a good person, and does not deserve to be ill-used."

"That's a resentful accusation," Renly snapped.

"But not one that is unfounded," Gendry stopped his uncle as they were about to cross from the castle to the tents. "I know Ser Loras does not favor Sansa, and that his decision to join the Kingsguard is of no great news to you. You and Loras are very close."

"What are you implying—"

"Nothing uncle," Gendry said, "truly. I am just... I ask you to tread carefully when it comes to Lady Sansa. Her emotions are not to be toyed with."

"It's just as well you have nothing to worry about," Renly said somewhat grumpily, but he seemed to understand. "She prefers Willas anyway."

"I am glad," Gendry sighed. "I mean no offense uncle."

"I know," Renly said, and they resumed their walking. "It was distastefully done, I can see that now, but Loras at times does have the flare for the dramatic, despite his chivalry. He couldn't join the Kingsguard without leaving a string of broken hearts behind."

Gendry chuckled.

"It is just as well Lady Sansa doesn't favor him then," he said.

"She's shrewd girl when she wants to be," Renly observed. "Much less…_loud_ than her sister."

"You flatter my bride to be," Gendry said drily.

"Lady Arya is _tenacious,_" Renly said with a relish and Gendry rolled his eyes. "Come, come, surely we can joke."

Surely they could. Gendry just didn't want to.

"Sometimes you are so like Stannis," Renly sighed sounding gravely disappointed. "Whatever are we going to talk about on the hunt tomorrow if you won't talk about your bride?"

"The weather?" Gendry offered and Renly shot him a glare.

"The wedding is in a week's time," his uncle noted as they neared Gendry's tent. "I heard your uncle Tyrion saying something about ordering the most wine he's ever seen?"

"He wouldn't be Tyrion if he didn't," Gendry laughed.

"But no Lord Tywin yet?" Renly remarked, and something in Gendry snagged. His body went slightly numb and he stopped, frowning.

"No," he said.

"Well you don't have to look as if someone's died," Renly scoffed. "He's your grandfather. He'll be here soon."

But would he? Something about Lord Tywin not being there just didn't fit right.

"Don't you think it's strange though?" Gendry asked, his brain whirling though he wasn't quite sure why. But it was just, it was just this gut feeling he had inside. Renly, apparently, did not share this feeling.

"What?"

"Lord Tywin is my grandfather," Gendry said. "This wedding is one of the most important events that will happen in recent history. Jon Arryn has died, Ned Stark has been made hand of the King, and still he delays. Why?"

"Why not?" Renly said with a shrug. "I tell you he will come. Lord Tywin has more important matters to attend to. Besides, Lady Stark's family has yet to arrive."

"The journey South is a long one," Gendry reasoned. "They have been riding for little less than a month, and the recent rains have made it impossible for them to travel beyond the Trident. Lord Tywin has no such excuse."

"Nephew," Renly said, clapping his hands on Gendry's shoulders. "You think too much. Go drink some wine, get in your armor, and knock some men about for your lady love. Forget these imagined worries. I tell you they hold no weight."

Gendry nodded, but he could not shake the knowledge that he knew he was right. There was something foul going on, something different from the usual muck and shit. Arya could feel it too. He knew her too well for her to hide it from him.

Sighing, he went into the tent.

"Finally!" Hot Pie exclaimed as Gendry swept the tent flap shut. "I was beginning to think the Others had taken you!"

"It's not that late," Gendry snapped. "And I can see that you would run to my rescue if they had!"

"Too much work," Hot Pie waved him off.

"Yeah because I'm only the crown prince," Gendry said sarcastically. Hot Pie rolled his eyes.

"Look," he said, "I haven't been completely useless, all right? See? I polished every piece and laid it out for you."

So he had. Gendry felt a sort of old feeling stir within his blood, something deep and akin to pride, but not pride at all as he gazed at the armor laid out on the table. Thick, perfect steel, forged by his hammer. His first set of armor, and he would wear it today. He had spent years and years working towards this moment, and now it was finally here.

"It's beautiful."

Gendry and Hot Pie both jumped, neither of them having heard Arya come in. She smiled at both of them, and for a moment Gendry was utterly struck for words.

"Oh it's you," Hot Pie sighed dispassionately. "I hardly recognized you."

She did look different. Her hair had been braided the night before, and hung half down in waves, brushed smooth no doubt by Sansa. A ringlet sat atop her head, and she was clad in grey blue silks that hugged at her waist and hips, but the sleeves both had slits down the middle, leaving her arms bare. She was truly a queen in that moment, but this girl that stood before Gendry wasn't Arya. Not her, not really. It was easy to forget.

"Oh be quiet," Arya snorted. "You're just thrilled I came by so you wouldn't have to put on his armor for him."

"I am going to put on his armor!" Hot Pie snapped. "What's the point of me being his squire if I don't put his armor on?"

"The food?" Gendry offered, noticing an array of honey cakes on the table.

"Not a chance," Arya said, cutting him off. "You don't want to fight on a full stomach."

The perfect appearance of the honey cakes said otherwise. But who was he to argue with a wolf?

"Now are you going to help me put on his armor or aren't you?" She demanded of Hot Pie.

"Isn't it bad luck to have a woman in the tent before a tourney?" Hot Pie commented grumpily.

"Its worse luck to have you anywhere before anything," Gendry pointed out. Hot Pie gave him a dark look.

"You were the one who appointed me as your squire," he fairly reminded Gendry as he helped Arya pick up Gendry's breast plate. "Could've had pick of any high born young man, and you chose me."

"A mistake," Gendry declared with a relish and Arya snorted.

There was a commotion outside, and Hot Pie went to go see what it was as Arya began doing his straps. Her fingers brushed and bumped against the linen of his shirt and he tried not to feel every touch in his throat. More than one, he caught her eye and she blushed slightly, looking a cross between flustered and annoyed.

"What was that?" She asked Hot Pie.

"Just the Mountain," he replied with a shrug. He suddenly looked serious. "Are you nervous Gendry?"

Gendry swallowed hard and he could feel Arya looking at him. Her gaze burned and he could not meet it. He raised his head tall.

"Yes," he replied honestly. "And you really should call me your grace, you know."

"I've never called you your grace," Hot Pie said with a disgusted look on his face, "and I never will."

Such behavior was improper, Gendry knew. Hot Pie was far his inferior, and should not talk in such a cavalier way to his future king. For some reason, Hot Pie calling him "my grace" or "my king" felt so lonely and wrong. He was Gendry's best friend, apart from Arya, the only person Gendry felt comfortable in his skin around. The day Hot Pie called Gendry by his title was a sad thing to ponder.

They helped him into his armor in silence. A strange sort of atmosphere had settled between the three. Hot Pie and Arya worked together silently as Gendry stood dutifully, holding out his arms and letting them make him into a knight. He remembered how they all used to argue, like the time where Arya and Hot Pie had come to blows about what it really took to make a knight. All talk the both of them. Gendry looked at them lovingly as they helped him. His pack, as Arya had one time referred to the three of them. The label suited them well. If the world were to end, he would want Hot Pie and Arya at his side.

"How do I look?" He asked when they were finished. Arya and Hot Pie appraised him.

"Like a warrior," Arya said with a grin, silly and wolfish but there was no denying the shine in her eyes.

"You'll do," Hot Pie cut in and Gendry laughed.

"Milady," he said teasingly, holding out his arm to Arya. She took it, and then, winking at Hot Pie, they emerged from the tent the smiling, golden couple.

"Shall I give you my favor?" Gendry asked as Arya held his bull helmet in her hands. The stands were full by now with royals, and the small folk had gathered too. The entire world could see them. He was relieved. It was important that no matter what they felt, they must always present the united front.

"That depends on what your favor is," Arya said, running her fingers against the smoothness of the bull horns.

"A handkerchief," Gendry admitted and she snorted.

"The silly things people think are romantic," she sighed.

"Yes," Gendry said, and he felt his throat go slightly dry, wondering... Would she even like it at all, what he intended to give her after the tourney? Maybe she would snort again, or laugh at him.

"But yes," Arya said, smiling, "you may give me your favor."

"Oh I good because I intended to anyway," Gendry teased and she rolled her eyes. The trumpets were sounding. She needed to be in her seat.

"Go," he said, "or the queen will have your head."

"Not without your helmet," she reminded him, and she lifted her hands up to put it on his head, having to balance on her tiptoes while Gendry bent down.

"Perhaps I should kneel," he said as she secured it on his head. Arya made a grunted, hissing noise and Gendry was sure that if he hadn't been wearing so much metal, she would have given him a good thwack.

Instead, as he made to stand, she grabbed his helmet between her hands and then leaned forward and kissed the cool metal covering his mouth. Gendry could only blink like a stupid owl as she smiled radiantly at him, blinking her eyes prettily.

"I'll be awaiting your favor, my liege," she said, swooping low into a sweet curtsey. Gendry stood and raised an eyebrow, though she could hardly see.

"A true lady would mean that kiss!" He called after her as she floated away, waltzing and swaying almost with too much gander. Thankfully no one noticed.

"Who says I didn't?" She called over her shoulder with a grin.

_Maddening,_ Gendry thought as he watched her go. _Madding, insane girl. _

As the crowd swelled and cheered, Hot Pie helped Gendry to mount his horse. The armor made it difficult to do much, but Gendry had his sword, and Hot Pie helped him to secure the handkerchief between his fingers. There was a moment's silence as they waited, the crowd cheering in the background. Gendry could see his mother and father sitting atop of it all, frosty to each other's presence. Myrcella and Sansa sat next to each other, as thick as thieves. Arya sat next to them as well, but he couldn't see her expression.

"Good luck," Hot Pie managed with a gulp. Reassuring, he was certainly not.

Gendry gently rapped his heels against his horse, Hot Pie gave her a good slap on the rump and he was off, trotting along with the other knights and for the spectators viewing pleasure. He fell in behind Edric Dayne and Loras Tyrell, the latter of whom slowed down so that Gendry might go before him. Gendry nodded in thanks and Loras tipped his helmet to him in a sign of respect. Gendry smiled. Respectful though he was, Gendry was sure Loras had a weighted lance.

The Mountain rode tall and unforgiving, his great hulk casting a shadow over everyone else. Gendry couldn't help but feel sweat and nerves pooling at the pit of his stomach. He wished for his hammer. He reminded himself of his strength. _I'm tall, _Gendry thought to himself. _And besides I probably won't have to fight him anyway. _The thought was little comfort.

As they all trotted past in a neat row, some knights giving their favors to pretty ladies, others not, Gendry saw Edric Dayne, the blonde haired knight in front of him, who had yet to put on his helmet, reach for something. For one blind second of jealous suspicion, Gendry wondered if... But no. Dayne handed his favor off to a pretty blonde haired girl and only dipped his head to Arya, who smiled at him in a friendly manner.

"My lady," he said, drawing up to where Arya sat. She stood, a better way to take his favor, and Gendry swore the crowd hushed as the bit of cloth passed between them. _Oh the sighs of all the romantics_, he thought rather cynically, and Arya gave him a half smile of someone who understood his pain. They nodded courteously, and then Gendry pulled his horse away and trotted along with the rest of the knights.

Ser Loras drew up behind him, and Gendry saw the handsome knight pull out a red rose and hand it across to Lady Sansa. Instantly he felt a flare of annoyance.

"From my brother," Loras said, and Sansa's face lit up in a genuine smile. "He says that he wishes he could give it to you himself, and that he will return to Kings Landing and to your ladies gracious presence before the bloom fades."

Sansa inhaled the flower's perfume.

"Thank you Ser Loras," she said kindly, dipping her head, a blush on her cheeks. "You are a very good brother to give me this."

Gendry saw Sansa blush again and then turn to whisper and giggle with Myrcella while Arya sat back in her chair, his favor limp in her hand and a bored expression on her face. He couldn't help but feel like he was doing it wrong. _Should I send her flowers?_ He thought to himself as he rode back to the tents, the tourney gong sounding, signaling the start. Was that the way to properly woo a lady?

"Should I send Arya flowers?" Gendry asked Hot Pie as he waited his turn to joust. Hot Pie snorted.

"Only if you want a black eye," he said, fitting Gendry with a lance.

"It's just... Other ladies... They seem to like them," Gendry sighed with a frown, struggling. Hot Pie laughed.

"I hardly think Lady Stark is comparable to other ladies," he pointed out. "I wouldn't fret. I think she'll like what you got her."

"Is it ready?" Gendry inquired. Hot Pie nodded.

"I did everything as instructed and hid it where you wanted me to," he relayed precisely. Gendry let out a long sigh, his nerves getting the better of him.

"I think that's you," Hot Pie said, and without further warning he slapped the rump of Gendry's horse and both rider and knight trotted off to joust for the spectator's pleasure.

Gendry did well, as he always did in the beginning. He defeated each one of his opponents with ease. It was once the weak knights and bannermen were weeded out that he had trouble. Gendry was strong, and that usually allowed him to defeat most men with ease. But once he went up against skilled knights such as Ser Loras... Well then that was something else entirely. However, that didn't seem to be a problem. Weighted lance or no weighted lance, Loras went up against the Mountain and was hit with such force he was almost thrown from his horse.

"Where's your weighted lance now boy?" The Mountain crowed with laughter as he rode past a gasping Loras who could scarcely breathe.

By midday, the competition was winding down. After a short respite of lunch, Gendry found himself going up against Dayne in sword fighting. Hot Pie gave him refreshment and helped to adjust his armor as servants came and swept the arena, collecting bits of broken lance and armor. Gendry was just about to put his helmet back on, when Dayne appeared, swaggering towards him with his stupid floppy blonde hair. Gendry felt the muscle in his jaw jump.

"Oh lord here we go," Hot Pie groaned, and Gendry had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't complaining about Ned.

"Your grace, I hear we are to be sparing," Edric Dayne said with a courteous bow. Gendry returned it, abet grudgingly.

"So it would seem," Gendry replied shortly.

"Well," Dayne said, "may the best man win."

He held out an arm. Gendry raised an eyebrow, but Hot Pie was clearing his throat loudly, so Gendry took Dayne's arm and clasped it. The young knight's grin faltered slightly at the intensity of Gendry's gaze. _That's right Dayne, _Gendry thought, releasing his opponent's hand, _I don't forget. You can smile all you like, but I won't be fooled. Not again._

"He will," Gendry vowed.

"Well," Edric said with a grand mixture of awkwardness and bravado. "Not to fear, if I best you on the field, then I will crown Arya Queen of Love and Beauty in your name."

"I would hardly worry," Gendry growled darkly, snatching up his helmet from Hot Pie's hands. "I have nothing to fear at all."

"Well... Well good," Edric managed with discomfort. "Excellent. I will see you shortly."

He turned on his heel and hurried away. Gendry watched him go, feeling a sweet anger and taste of revenge seep down his body. _If I beat you on the field! He has a lot of nerve, Dayne does. _

"You make friends so well," Hot Pie piped up behind him.

"Edric Dayne is no friend of mine," Gendry snarled, snatching up his helmet and putting it on.

"So glad we've put the past in the past," Hot Pie muttered, handing Gendry his sword. Gendry didn't respond. His sword would be his words.

Dayne was almost a head shorter than Gendry, and it was highly pleasing. He was skilled with a sword though, which was far less so. As they stood opposite each other, Gendry could see Arya in the crowd, still and watching. He thought of Dayne's comment, of crowning her queen of love and beauty, and his sword felt hot and vengeful in his hand.

A gentleman would have shown mercy. Gendry didn't feel like a gentleman that day. As soon as it was time, he threw his sword against Dayne's, the metal clanging so loudly it snapped a hushed silence though out the crowd. Gendry didn't waste a second. He pressed his advantage, using his strength as he beat the young knight back and back, Dayne's footwork and skill being no match for Gendry's strength. His muscles felt taunt and sharp and hot, and the steel sang. It sang until Gendry beat the sword from Dayne's hands. There was a moment's silence.

"It appears I will crown the lady myself," Gendry said, victory swelling in his chest, and he held out his hand to Dayne, who took it.

"I wish you luck against the Mountain," he said earnestly, and Gendry's throat went dry. He had forgotten about that. Now, with Dayne out of the game, and the Mountain's next opponent beaten to bits before Gendry's very eyes, there was no question of who would be in the running for the final duel.

It would be the stag verses the Mountain.

A hushed silence fell as the two warriors took their stances. Gendry tried not to feel the bubble of panic that was mounting inside him. There was a pause. Just for a breath of a second, everything was still.

Then the Mountain struck.

Heat rang inside Gendry's helmet. Sweat drenched his hair and poured from his neck. His breath was hot and wet against the metal which was thick and heavy, ringing like bells. But he didn't care. It was his bull helmet and it would not fail him yet.

The Mountain swung around and brought his sword slicing through the air, and Gendry could only react as a reflex, thrusting his sword up to block the blow. The swords crashed together with a screaming clang that shook throughout Gendry's entire body, even to his teeth that were locked together in bared, grating determination. With a roar, he slashed his sword out from under Clegane's and swung up and around, striking hard.

Clegane was no fool. He was twice the swordsman Gendry was, and had twice the strength. But he didn't have something Gendry had. He didn't have anything other than his black heart to fight for. _Fight for love, _he thought, his mind flicking to Arya. _Fight for anger. _He could see his father in the crowd, on his feet. _Fight to show them all. _

Clegane brought about another slicing blow, but this time Gendry was ready. With an all mighty yell he yanked his sword upwards and met the blow. The clang of metal had a strange effect. It block out all other sound, so there was only Gendry and the Mountain and nothing else. No lady fair, no fat King and yellow Queen. Only steel.

Gendry didn't strike. He cut. Sounds, war cries, ripped from his mouth as he struck his sword hard against Clegane's with all his strength. He slashed again and again and again, beating the great Mountain back as he attempted to block Gendry's blows which were furious and unrelenting. All it was, was steel. Steel singing and shrieking a song with each blow. Steel vibrating through his limbs and muscle. Steel humming through his blood.

"Get him Gendry! Beat him back!" Arya's voice sounded delayed, like something not real or there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew she was screaming, and with each furious, raged blow, he could see her on her feet, beating her hands against the wood, shouting her lungs raw. Ready to climb into the pit with him.

The King was shouting too.

Gendry beat Clegane back ten paces, but the Mountain had had enough. There was a grunt, and he brought up his tourney sword to meet Gendry's, fighting back. The swords sparked together, but Gendry would not let go. The blades grated together, screeching as both men pushed with all their might, refusing to yield. The Mountain's face was so close, Gendry could almost taste his breath. His eyes were black, bottomless holes.

And then he threw Gendry backwards, stumbling, barely having time to block the Mountain's cutting blow. In that instant, Gendry knew he was done for. The Mountain wasn't fighting anymore. He was going to cut Gendry down.

It was all Gendry could to keep to his footing. The Mountain had been saving his strength. He was like a giant. Each strike drove Gendry backwards and into the ground. He felt like he was now the metal, and Clegane the hammer. Beating him back and raw until he was nothing but a pulp.

Gendry roared, teeth clenched, jaw tight and sweat pouring from his brow. His entire body felt shattered. His muscles were sinewy pain, tight and about to break. But he would not yield. He could not yield. The Mountain would have to cut him down to finish him.

That was exactly what he did.

His sword clanged loudly with Gendry's, and then Gendry was suddenly seeing stars as the Mountain smashed his hand into Gendry's helmet. The moment of ringing confusion was just enough for him. Clegane turned his sword around, and then with all his might he slammed the hilt into Gendry's chest.

The thick metal, so lovingly made, dented into his chest like it was made of soft clay and Gendry fell. He was already falling, and Clegane hit his sword against the side of Gendry's head for good measure. The steel rang with a thousand cries of pain, and Gendry crashed to the ground, all broken bones and no consciousness of what was going on. There was only a throbbing in his chest and his entire body was trapped by metal. Dust swirled around him until he could scarcely breathe.

"Gendry!"

It was Arya, rushing at him, though his vision was quite blurred and he could barely see her. Still, he knew she was there. Very untoward, he thought to himself over the dull humming going on in his helmet as Hot Pie tried unsuccessfully to drag him inside the tent. A young woman throwing herself at her husband to be like that. What would the court gossips say? The Princess running onto the tourney field. Very untoward indeed.

"Fine," he grunted as Hot Pie yanked him over the clumps of dirt and grass. "I'm fine."

"Take off his helmet you idiot," Arya demanded rather loudly, and before Gendry could even tell her to stop, he was fine, she had yanked it off his head, allowing for a very unnecessary amount of light to flood into his eyes. He recoiled back like a squirming infant.

"Do you need any help?"

"No," Gendry grunted loudly. Not him. Not Dayne. No way in hell. "Not you."

"Ignore him he's delirious," Arya snapped. "Grab his legs."

"Where are the attendants?" Hot Pie was complaining loudly. "There are supposed to be attendants! He's the crown prince!"

"Shut up and give me his other arm," Arya commanded. Gendry could feel her struggling to lift him with his armor. He tried to say something but his breast plate rammed into his chin and for a moment all he saw was stars.

When he could see properly again, it was darker, and he was being set down, propped against something. Dayne had let go of his feet, and Arya was setting to remove his armor, making quick work with her slim fingers, undoing the straps, unbuckling what needed to be unbuckled. She was right. She made a far better squire than Hot Pie.

"My lady, is this wise... The crown prince... People might talk..."

"Oh shut up," Arya snapped, and Gendry could only feel a swell of buoyant stupid victory at the sputter Dayne made. If only his vision would clear faster so that he could see the idiot knight's face.

"All right," Dayne said, sounding put out, "if I'm no longer needed—"

"Your services were much appreciated," Arya grunted as she worked a particularly difficult strap. "But they are no longer required. Please Ned, will you go and tell the King and my father that the crown prince is attended to? Hot Pie has gone for a maester."

"As you wish my lady," Dayne said in resigned tones. There was a soft cling of metal, and he was gone.

"Good," Gendry groaned. "I thought he'd never leave."

Arya snorted with laughter and sighed, pushing off his breast plate from his chest and helping him remove it. The loss of the weight was like a huge sigh of relief. He collapsed against what felt like a chest. Whatever it was, it was uncomfortable.

"You need water," Arya decided, and there was a clang as she _dropped_ his armor (the nerve really after all the hours he had spent on it) to go get him the refreshment he needed. Vision starting to return to normal, Gendry remembered what he had wanted to do.

"I need..." He gasped, his chest hurting with a cankerous, dull ache. "I need..."

"Here," Arya said, grabbing the back of his head. "Be quiet and drink this."

"No," Gendry grunted, jerking away and then scooting towards what he wanted to show her, even though Arya was doing her best to yank him backwards. It was a fruitless attempt. Even when someone had struck him down with the blunt end of their sword, Gendry was still stronger than Arya. "I need to... I need to..."

"Later," Arya was insisting, but he ignored her as he fished around behind the trunk. Finally his hands curled over cold metal.

"I know I couldn't crown you queen of love and beauty—"

"Oh please," Arya said, sitting back with a huff. Her hair had come out of its braids, Gendry saw, and she was covered with dust and sweat, "don't even start with that."

"But I made you this," Gendry finished, and he pulled out the helmet from behind the trunk, and for once in what seemed like the entire time he had known her, Arya had nothing to say.

It was a wolf helmet. He had spent hours upon hours working the metal for her, using her ringlets as a measure for her head size, and then ever so carefully molding the steel into the shape of her house's fierce sigil. How many long hours had he toiled over the hot fires, tenderly stroking the red hot metal into the face of a wolf? Gently carving out the fur, the fierce eyes, the bared teeth? And all the while he had thought of her, her unforgivable Northern will. Her wild direwolf she had to leave behind in Winterfell, because future Princesses had no need for such pets. He had tried to remember every detail of that wolf, for her.

"You were never one for crowns and flowers anyway," he managed to croak out, his throat dry and his skin fevered. He awkwardly shifted back into sitting position, looking at her. He couldn't see her eyes because her face was bent over the helmet, her fingers absently ghosting over the smooth surface. He wished she would say something. Maybe this was the wrong thing to do. Maybe...

"You stupid," she said, looking up, but to Gendry's surprised her voice was a bit thick and he couldn't quite understand if this was a good or bad thing.

"Well don't keep me in suspense," Gendry grunted, wincing as he moved. "Do you like it or don't you?"

"Of course I like it!" She all but shouted at him.

"All right, all right!" Gendry groaned. "Keep your hair on you crazy woman."

She smacked him. He had just gotten the worst beating of his life and she smacked him.

"I'm worth two men," she informed him.

"You're worth far more than that," Gendry sighed, and he caught her eye. She was looking at him differently. He didn't dare hope...

But suddenly she appeared almost nervous, and she was taking deep, slow breaths, getting a steely look in her eye that told him she was resolved to do something that frightened her. He blinked, frowning slightly, and was just about to ask her what it was that was bothering her, but then she was leaning forward, and her hands were pressing ever so lightly into his shirt, and he was cursing himself for being so stupid because of course! But was this really what she was doing? She was leaning forward, her face so close to his, foreheads brushing, and he was wondering if she really was... Was she really going to kiss him? It seemed like a fantasy brought on by delirium.

"I've got the maester!"

Gendry was ready to destroy Hot Pie. The moment was broken. Arya gasped and jerked away, the heat from her body snatching backwards like a sharp intake of breath. Then she was leaping up, ushering the maester forward, acting as if nothing had happened between them. There was a flush to her cheeks though. Other than that, it might have not happened at all. Maybe he had been dreaming.

"Nothing appears to be broken," the maester said, feeling inside Gendry's shirt. It wasn't Pycelle, someone else. Gendry thanked the gods for that. "You should count yourself lucky, that armor must have been thick."

"It was," Gendry grunted.

"Is there anything to be done?" He heard Arya ask.

"Milk of the poppy," the maester said. "I'll bind his chest to keep things secure, just as a precautionary effort. The best thing I can advise is no strenuous activity."

"His wedding is in less than a week," Hot Pie said with a scoff, "I'm pretty sure there's going to be strenuous-OWW!"

There was a loud crack as Arya thwacked him.

"No milk of the poppy," Gendry groaned.

"Ignore him," Arya said at once.

"The feast..." Gendry tried to explain. "My father..."

"Oh who cares about the stupid feast!" Arya declared in all annoyance. "Just take the milk of the poppy and be done with it."

The maester offered the bottle to his lips, but Gendry refused it. There was a loud growling sound, and then out of nowhere Arya came rushing in, snatching the bottle out of the maester's hands and grabbing the back of Gendry's head.

"No!" Gendry squirmed, but it was no use. She was determined, jabbing his hands aside and forcing the bottle to his lips. Sweet liquid dribbled down his throat.

"You'll thank me later," she snapped as Gendry tried to spit it out. "Now stop squirming. The maester says you're not to move."

"I hate you," Gendry grumbled, but his speech was already starting to get thick and his tongue felt weird and pasty in his mouth. Above him, Hot Pie and Arya began to blur as his eyes rolled back towards his head under heavy lids. Just as he drifted off into space, he thought he heard her laugh.

"Arya?"

Gendry's voice sounded weak and feeble, rather like a frightened child as he blinked, adjusting to the darkened light. Whole hours had passed, and he was no longer in the tent but in his chambers, lying flat on his back in his bed. The windows were shut, the curtains drawn, and just a few feet away from him someone stirred.

"No, a white walker," she joked, sitting by the fire of his room in a great chair, dressed in a plain dress and robe. Her hair was tangled and undone, pulled back half-heartedly with a wooden comb.

"Have you been here all this time?" He croaked, trying to sit up but his entire body screamed in protest.

"Don't," she ordered sharply. "You aren't to move. Maester said so."

"What am I supposed to do then?" Gendry grumbled, laying back against the pillows. The room was pleasantly warm, and it felt strange for her to be there. Soon she would be there always. Soon she would claim that chair as hers and sit by the fire every evening. It was strange thing to think about.

"Heal," Arya said very unapologetically. Gendry grunted.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking over at her as she beat over something. Firelight licked her face with soft and yellow tongues.

"Sewing."

"_Sewing?_"

"Don't sound so surprised," she snapped. "I sew quite a bit you know."

"Yes," Gendry agreed, "but never voluntarily."

"Well," Arya sighed with a huff. "It's a secret, I really shouldn't tell... But Willas, before he went back to Highgarden, proposed to Sansa."

"Did he?" Gendry asked, surprised and pleased by this news.

"Yes," Arya said with something of a wane smile. "It's customary to embroider something for the bride. I'm getting a head start so I can muck it up now and then fix it later, as opposed to the alternative."

"Seems a wise enterprise," Gendry grinned. "Given your talent with a needle."

"I'd say I have great talent with needles," Arya said loftily, teasing. "In fact, I say I sew better than most girls I know."

"You sew very differently than most girls you know," Gendry corrected her as he tried to roll his body towards her and instantly regretted it. It took him a few moments to recover from the pain, and by then Arya had lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

"You fought differently today," she said, staring into the fire as if seeing him in the flames. "You didn't hold back."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Gendry wondered. "Isn't that what you've been telling me to do for years?"

Arya didn't say anything for a moment.

"I thought you were going to beat him," she said at last. "But you didn't."

Gendry felt a pang of guilt and self-disappointment, as though he had let her down. And it wasn't about the stupid crown of flowers or anything else. He was a fool to think she held any merit in those things. The scene of him victorious flashed in his mind. The crowd cheering, his father's beaming eyes, and Arya. Arya happy. Arya kissing him. Taking him to bed...

He was a fool and an idiot.

"But I know you will," she spoke up unexpectedly. "I saw you fighting him today. I know one day you'll fight him, and next time you'll beat him."

There was such a strong, unwavering faith in her eyes that Gendry found himself astounded. For a moment, even he believed her.

"Why aren't you at the feast?" He asked instead. "You should be at the feast."

"My place is here with you," Arya recited dutifully, but Gendry had a sneaking suspicion she was doing anything and everything to avoid another social gathering. It would have been nice if she had meant the words though.

"You really shouldn't have forced me to drink that," Gendry told her with a frown.

"Mhmm," Arya hummed, already turned away from him, disinterested.

Gendry lay back against the pillows and let his thoughts consume him for a bit. His fight with the Mountain was still aching in his joints.

"I wish my uncle had been here," he said aloud.

"Which one?" Arya asked absently.

"Jaime," Gendry said. There was a sharp sound of wood against stone as Arya whipped around.

"Why?" She demanded rather accusingly.

_Because he's a good swordsman. Because I think he might have been proud of me for almost beating the Mountain._

"You still hate him that much?" Gendry frowned. Something dark passed over Arya's face.

"He hurt my brother," she snarled. "Or have you forgotten?"

"That's an outrageous accusation which has no proof or merit," Gendry said angrily. "Bran's accident was horrible, but it was just that, an accident. Even Bran thinks so."

"Bran doesn't remember," Arya insisted. "But I do."

"Really?" Gendry sneered. "And what do you remember? Nothing, because you were with me at the time Bran fell. We were down at the beach looking for sand crabs and he fell from the wall of the Red Keep. It was an accident. He shouldn't have been climbing."

"It was the Kingslayer," Arya said.

"Never say that again in front of me," Gendry commanded, his voice soft and full of rage. "Do you even know what you are saying? Do you even know what kind of accusation that it? Attempted murder? If Jaime ever heard that, he could have your head on a spike!"

Arya got to her feet.

"I don't trust them!" She declared. "I don't trust the lot of them!"

"Then you don't trust me," Gendry said.

"That's not true," Arya snapped, tears of frustration and anger clouding in her eyes. She hastily wiped them away so she would not cry. "You're a stag, like your father."

"With lion's blood," Gendry told her. "You can't just erase one half of me. I am Lannister and I am Baratheon."

"No you're not!" Arya cried. "You're not. You're not like them at all!"

"Things aren't just cut in half you know," Gendry said. "You can't... You can't just divide people up to fit the places you choose."

Arya looked at him for a long time with an odd sense of anger and betrayal on her face. It wasn't fair. She had just accused his uncle, declared hatred for his family, and yet somehow Gendry felt like he was in the wrong and he had no idea why.

"I should go," she said at last.

"Yes," Gendry agreed bitterly.

She rocked back on her feet for a minute, opening her mouth as if to say something, and then thought better of it. Collecting up her sewing, she silently took a candle and left, the sound of her slippers against the stone fading until there was only quiet and the crackling of the fire.

oooooooOOOOOOooooooo

"What a fight that was!"

Robert's voice boomed throughout the King's Wood as he, Gendry, and Renly trekked through the trees and brush, trailed by servants and cupbearers. They were making such a racket, Gendry was wondering why they even bothered to go on the hunt in the first place.

"Speak a little louder brother," Renly said, "I don't think you've scared all the game away yet."

"Shut your god damn mouth Renly," Robert snapped. "I'm the King. I can do what I bloody like."

"Except catch anything decent apparently," Renly commented and Gendry tried not to laugh.

"You're lucky I don't stick this spear up your ass!" Robert said in his booming voice, shaking his spear at Renly, his gut jiggling as he did. Three hours of this had gone by, Robert's retelling of stories and Renly's sly comments. It was getting tiresome, and Gendry could fell the throb in his ribs and head, which were still badly bruised and hurt like the blazes. His father's face was bruised as well, an ugly reminder of the blows that had fallen between them. Every moment spent between father and son was growing more and more unpleasant.

"Fell like a fucking puppet he did," Robert went right on and Gendry felt his face flare. "You wouldn't have seen me do that! Back in the day, I could have destroyed the Mountain."

"How exhilarating," Renly sighed dispassionately.

"It's a right shame," Robert said. "I'd bet you'd get a good fucking out of that girl if you had crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty."

Gendry clenched his fists and tried to keep silent.

"Arya is a Lady," he said despite himself through gritted teeth.

"You think that matters?" Robert barked with laughter. "They're all the same once you give them a flower."

"You put romance in such an eloquent light," Renly observed, trying to keep the mood from falling as fast as it was.

"I would never dishonor—"

"Honor!" Robert shouted, looking annoyed. "You spend too much time with Stannis. Fuck your honor and give that girl a good fucking damn the seven hells!"

"I've come to blows with you over Arya's honor," Gendry said in a low voice. "I won't have it again."

"Enough of this," Renly said, coming between them. "I am tired of all this bickering. Come, let us share a drink and forget all this nonsense."

Gendry hardly wanted to. Again, he could feel his bitter anger mounting against his father, and it would only be the worse if Robert drank... But who was he to refuse? Not taking a sip of wine would be a gross insult, so as Lancel Lannister brought them two goblets and filled them, Gendry took a long and hearty swig and said no more about it.

The afternoon grew hot and sweltering. Flies buzzed throughout the King's Wood as they walked on and on, the sun streaming through the trees and beating down on their backs. Gendry's head began to swim, and he felt sluggish and not himself. His limbs felt like heavy weights, each step taking an extreme amount of effort. He wondered if he should say anything, but the world tilted and spun, and he could only imagine his father's annoyance and rude words.

There was a sound of something, and Gendry jerked to a stop, listening. A rumble, a roar of some sort, he could feel the earth begin to move... Something was coming...

He was vaguely aware of Renly and the servants roaring in a panic, scattering like bits of broken steel, but he couldn't run. His limbs were too slow, too out of place. And then he noticed something. It was a boar. And his father was running straight at it.

"No!" Gendry shouted as the earth shook and everything spun. "Father NO!"

In that split second, before the trees fell apart in splinters of shattering wood and the boar burst from the leaves like some great nightmare, Gendry saw Robert. He saw his father as if seeing him for the first time. The blind bravery. The desperation. The past that would never be relived as he charged at the boar drunkenly with a weak and lumbering swing.

Its tusks sank into him as if he were clay. Blood spurted and rained and there was the sound of ripping flesh and screaming pain. The world exploded and Gendry was knocked to his feet blindly. His father's spear sank into the beasts flesh, but hardly deep enough, and Gendry was gripped with the strange spell that had fallen over him since he drank the wine. He slumped over as the boar rumbled and raged past him, barely noticing Gendry as he slumped to the earth, crying and shouting but no sound coming out.

His vision was beginning to blue to the extreme from tears, and the world tilted and sloshed as though the Kings Wood was a boat in the sea. Gendry felt himself going numb as he crawled towards his father, who lay broken and bleeding against the green earth. Trembling hands cupped the great King's head.

"Help!" Gendry shouted, his tongue thick in his mouth and sobs choking his throat. "Help him! He's the King! He's my father! Help!"

But no one came, and before he could stop himself, Gendry felt his entire body sag, and then he slumped over into nothingness.

**If certain things feel like their left hanging, or ambiguous, don't worry. They're supposed to be like that. I plan to pick them up in later chapters. **


	4. Kingslayer

**I know, I know, this was a horribly long wait. It just took me so darn long to write! Summer has been crazy since I'm going away next year, but I won't bore you with the details. Here's the chapter: enjoy!**

Arya was fifteen when the accident happened. There were so many places she could lay her finger on and say "Yes, this was where it all began to end," but the day of the accident she would remember, was the only real day that everything fell to pieces, not all at once but slowly. That was the day Bran fell from the window at the Red Keep.

Bran had initially intended come with them to King's Landing. He had fallen ill on the first trip down, and so stayed at Winterfell for a year or two, but Robert had thought Bran would be a good companion for the Princes, and so Bran made the trip down to King's Landing. He wasn't chained there, as Arya and Sansa had been. He got to make frequent trips home to Winterfell, at Cat's request, while Arya was forced to watch him ride away, chained like a stupid princess in her stupid castle.

But she loved it when Bran came back. He always had stories and wonderful memories of home. He had presents from her mother and brothers, and he smelled of home too. He made crude sketches of the heart tree for her, and Rickon wrote her letters. She hated when he left, but she also loved when he stayed. King's Landing was better with Bran. Until the horrible thing happened. Until Jaime Lannister pushed Bran out of a window.

It had been an awfully hot afternoon and an utterly boring day. Septa Mordane had given her morning lessons on tea drinking, but then there was only so many ways Arya could sip a cup, and so finally she had been set free. But to do what? For a huge and vast capitol, there was nothing to do in Kings Landing. Not like Winterfell.

"Do you want to go look for sandcrabs?"

Arya felt her cheeks go slightly flushed and it had nothing to do with the heat that was sweltering and swarming around the room. Bran bounced a ball against the wall while Arya polished Needle. Sansa had vacated their company for that of Myrcella's, and it had been an utterly dull afternoon. That was, until Gendry came in, tall and handsome and grinning with the promise of something interesting.

"I don't think that's allowed," Bran said in a bored tone, smacking the ball against the wall.

"Well you could come," Gendry offered. "Be our chaperone."

Bran made a face of disgust.

"I'd rather not," he said dispassionately.

"Come on stupid," Arya begged, shaking at his arm. "Father won't let me go if you don't."

"Then don't ask him," Bran said, leaning his head back and giving her a purposeful look. Arya chewed her lip, and then winced slightly, hearing Sansa's chiding at how that bad habit was 'unladylike.' She shot Gendry a look. She felt like such a maid when he was like this, confident and grinning with a towel extended towards her. He looked like sweet summer, and staying inside looked like stuffy, wet, uncomfortable summer.

"I won't tell," Bran pressed.

"Why are you so eager for me to leave?" Arya asked, whipping around with narrowed eyes. "You're not going to go climbing again, are you?"

"No!" Bran said, a little too fast.

"Bran!"

"You sound like Sansa."

"I do _not_ sound like Sansa!"

"I could ask your Septa," Gendry offered, cutting across their bickering. Arya tensed. She did not want Speta Mordane there. If Speta Mordane was there, then this would be a courting outing, and she did not want it to be a courting outing.

"No," she said, glaring at Bran. "If you see father-"

"I'll tell him you're off making babies," Bran said, waving her off.

"BRAN!"

"I'll tell him you went to find Sansa," Bran rolled his eyes at the color of Arya's face, not threatened in the least.

Face flushed with utter embarrassment-_making babies_-she got to her feet and took Gendry's outstretched towel. It would have been fine, but now that Bran had said _making babies_ that was all she could think about. Did Gendry think about her in that way? He must. He wanted her. She remembered his gazes.

"You're awfully quiet all of a sudden," Gendry commented as they walked down the steps. There was a secret way to sneak out, through the servants corridors, to go to a beach tucked under the Red Keep. No common folk were there, and Arya was beginning to realize they were to be totally and utterly alone. Maybe she should have brought Septa Mordane along after all.

She just blushed. Stupid blushing girl, just like Sansa. Arya hated that. She hated feeling flustered and stupid. She just wanted to feel like Arya. She just wanted him to feel like Gendry. It was so much easier that way.

"Well?" He shoved her with his elbow and she shoved him back. She was glad he shoved her. It was easier that way.

"Maybe it's because I don't want to hear you talk," she said, shoving him again. Then she grinned and ran.

"Oh is that it?" Gendry called after her, and she could hear his feet picking up as he chased after her. She raced down the corridor and twisted down the stairs on the side of the castle, her heart pounding in her chest as she ran as fast as she could, plummeting towards the beach. The sand was slippery and hot, and as she looked back, Gendry tripped. Guffawing with laughter, Arya ran back to help him to his feet. They stood there a moment, gasping for breath.

"It's beautiful isn't it? Despite the weather," Gendry said softly, staring out at the landscape. He was right. Despite the heat that seemed to melt everything to rust and ruin, there was something about the water that was lovely. Even the South could be beautiful sometimes.

"Maybe it's the weather that makes it so beautiful. Sometimes, I think that we feel something is only beautiful when it's sunny, or perfect, but that's not necessarily the case," Arya said, and for some reason she felt like she wasn't talking about the South anymore. Gendry said nothing, but she could feel his gaze. Arya could not meet it, no matter how angry she was with herself.

"I'm sorry Bran didn't want to come with us," Gendry commented instead. "I've been getting to enjoy his company. So has Myrcella, I think. She used to blush at Robb, but all I hear about these days is your younger brother."

"I'm glad. I'm so glad Bran has a friend. We are quite alone here you know," Arya admitted.

"And you, do you have a friend?" Gendry asked.

"Well, I have you don't I? Aren't you my friend?" Arya asked, suddenly worried. Her hair had come out of its tight braid and was waving in her face.

And, just like that, he reached out and pulled back one of the strands with his thumb. His skin grazed her face softly, causing her heart to lurch. Arya gazed straight into his eyes as he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear gracefully. Her breath caught in her throat and he smiled.

"Yes. Of course you've got me," he said, looking back out at the waves. She watched as his eyes got a mischievous glint to them.

"Come on, I'll race you," he said, and with that he rushed off, kicking sand behind him.

"What? To the water? Are you mad?" Arya called after him.

"Of course I'm mad! The best people are! Now come on! Don't let me win!" He roared back, turning in the sand to face her. Hands on his hips. A complete mystery.

"Oh I don't know..." Arya sighed. He walked back to her.

"Oh come on Arya," Gendry pleaded.

"I just... What's that?"

"What?"

"NOTHING! HA!" Arya shrieked with laughter, and with that she took off running towards the water.

"You little cheat!"

"I thought you didn't want me to let you win?" She called after him as he chased her. She was almost there. The water was so close...

"Aha!" Gendry snatched her arm, jerked her back and then grabbed Arya around the middle and tried to pull her behind him.

"STOP!" She screeched, kicking her legs. "STOP! THAT'S CHEATING!"

"So? You cheated first!" He laughed as she broke free and pulled him back.

"Did not!" Arya cried, as they both pushed each other out of the way, trying to make it to the waves first. Gendry grabbed her around the middle again, and this time she leapt forward, his arm still around her. They came crashing down, straight into the water.

"You ass!" Arya shrieked as sea water spurted past her and up the beach. She was completely soaked. He took one look at her hair plastered against her face, and then burst into hysterical laughter. Arya couldn't help it, she started laughing too.

"Wait!" Gendry called, picking himself up. "Arya wait, your dress-"

She hadn't thought of that. As if bitten by fire, she leapt away and Gendry chuckled as she stumbled from the weight of the wet skirts.

"Septa Mordane will have my head," she moaned.

"Not if we lay it across the rocks," Gendry told her reasonably. "It's hot out. It will dry."

This was a good plan. Quickly she began to undo the laces of her gown. Gendry's face went bright red and he made a little choking noise, quickly turning around. She felt such a fool. How was it so easy to forget, yet at the same time so hard to forget? She felt like a baby colt with ugly wet legs wobbling around without a clue of what to do. Whatever she did, it was wrong.

She set the dress on the rocks, but she couldn't help but feel like the mood was dampened. How was she supposed to swim in just a shift? Surely Gendry would feel uncomfortable. Maybe she should just wrap herself in a towel and they could sit on the beach and wait for her dress to dry. She was beginning to think that swimming was one of the worst ideas possible.

"Well come on then."

Before she could even react Gendry snuck up and grabbed her around the middle, sweeping her up, kicking and shrieking, and then stumbled and crashed into the water, spraying them both with waves of water. She was shouting at him, but all that got her was a mouthful of water because he threw her into the bay. She came up spitting water and sputtering.

"You idiot!" She shrieked, soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her face. Gendry had removed his vests and belts. All he wore was a thin tunic and pants. And he was laughing at her.

She lumbered forward and attacked him, beating him with water and her fists, but he only laughed harder. She jumped on him and they went crashing down, and still Gendry laughed. Half submerged in water, utterly sopping and covered with sand, and he still laughed under her as she splashed him in the face.

"Stubborn mule," she snapped at him, yanking herself to her feet and standing over him, catching her breath. He stopped laughing.

Her shift was plastered up her leg, white flesh exposed. It was plastered to all of her skin. Her budding breasts were white under the pale linen, but the dark patches at each center were visible. Everything was visible. _I am naked,_ Arya thought with horror, _I am worse than naked._

But then, something even worse happened. She wondered, unbidden, what it would be like to peel the shift from her body and let her wet skin breathe. What it would be like for him to see her, all of her, as she naturally was. Rough hands hot like glowing metal against her cold flesh.

She dashed towards the shore.

"Arya!" Gendry cried, and there were splashing sounds as he must have clambered to his feet behind her. "Arya wait!"

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. He was so close. She didn't know what to do. Her mind whirled in confusion.

"I didn't mean to-that was so ungentlemanly-" He was stuttering out and his hand felt hot on her arm. There were beads of water on the skin of his chest. He had dark black hair there. He was a man and she was just a girl. A stupid little girl. How could she have thought of letting him see her?

"Let go of my arm!" She demanded, wrenching away as tears began to sting in her eyes. She wrapped the thin limbs around her chest, shaking slightly.

"Arya, I'm so sorry this was a bad idea," Gendry stumbled over his words hastily. "Take my vest-"

"I don't want it," she snapped haughtily.

"Arya please, don't be difficult," Gendry sighed in a tiresome tone, offering her his vest. All at once, for no reason at all, tears began to flow from her eyes.

Maybe it was because being with him like this made her feel like such a disappointment, or maybe it was because she felt so vulnerable and almost violated that he had seen her, but she couldn't stop the stupid, _stupid _tears that rolled from her eyes so utterly unwanted. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, because Gendry seemed to know exactly what was wrong and exactly what to do. He drew her close and hugged her like he always had. Like a brother. Like her best friend.

That was when Bran fell.

"It was Jaime. It was Jaime Lannister."

When they carried her brothers mangled, unconscious body, his legs all bent out of shape and bleeding, she had looked up, just for a moment. And she had seen Jaime's face. Through all the chaos and her tears, there was no need for a closer look. It was him.

She had never seen Gendry so enraged. She had never been so enraged.

"Do you even know what you are saying?" Gendry had shouted at her. "Have you lost your mind? My uncle is a member of the Kingsguard!"

"It was him!" Arya cried, tears, red hot and angry, streaming from her eyes. "It was him! I saw him!"

"Oh, you saw him?" Gendry demanded. "You saw him push Bran from the window?"

"No!" Arya shouted. "But I saw-"

"I don't care what you thought you saw," Gendry cut across her violently. "Your prejudice against the South has been childish in the past, but now it is just unacceptable. I want you to apologize to my uncle-"

"I will not!" Arya shrieked. "I will not and you cannot make me!"

"You are such a child!" Gendry roared.

"You don't look at me like one!" She screamed. "I saw you today! I saw the way you looked at me! You're always looking at me like that! Like you want to fuck me! Well you won't! You won't ever!"

Gendry was completely taken aback, but Arya's rage was too much and she could not stop the words spewing from her mouth. She hated him for not believing her. She hated him for defending his uncle and calling her a child.

"Get away from me!" She screamed. "Don't touch me! I never want you to touch me again!"

"What's going on in here?" Ned's voice was cold and sharp, but it somehow brought Arya back to earth and all she could do was burst into angry, grief-stricken sobs that choked her entire body.

"I didn't," Gendry was sputtering, and for some reason he almost sounded near tears as well. "I didn't!"

Before Ned could even say anything, Gendry stormed from the room and there was only silence in his wake.

Now, there was only silence. Only the sound of the candle crackling softly, burning down the wax that pooled over the metal that held what once was a candle in place. Cold, hard and raw silence.

"You should go to bed, Arya."

Sansa hadn't even made a sound. The pale morning light washed her face grey and white. The red and gold shawl wrapped around her shoulders seemed to almost trap her, squeezing tight around her thin shoulders.

"He is grieving-"

"He is not grieving," Arya snapped, her voice hoarse. "He would not... Not without me..."

But how could she be sure? No. She turned away from Sansa sharply. It had been three days, and every day creeping doubt and suspicion had gnawed at her resolve and determination in him. The King was dying. As the wound festered, Robert cried and begged for his son. But Gendry did not come.

"The Prince has ordered, no visitors," the knight growled firmly when she had come to see him the day they had carried the King in, broken and bleeding.

"What?" The very idea was so ludicrous she was sure it was some sort of joke.

"No visitors," he snapped. "Now go."

"No I will not 'go'!" Arya exclaimed in outrage. "He is my betrothed, or need I remind you? He will see me!"

"He ordered me," the knight said. "I follow his commands."

"His commands or the Queen's?" Arya snarled, smelling something foul. "What has she done to him?"

"The Prince has ordered me to keep any unwanted persons out. You are an unwanted person."

"What is your name, Ser?" Arya demanded. "I would like to report you to my father."

"Janos Slynt," the knight said with a chuckle. "You go right on ahead and report me, but there's nothing your Lord father can do. Not even the Hand of the King."

There was something so poisonous about his glare.

"Let me past," she ordered through gritted teeth. "I would like to see my husband."

"Oh it's husband now, is it?" Janos Slynt sneered. "I thought it had been betrothed."

Arya paused, and then she barreled at him, clawing at the door and screaming for Gendry. Screaming and screaming his name as Janos grabbed her violently and threw her to the ground. Furious, she leapt her feet.

"Northern bitch," she heard him mutter under his breath.

"You'll be sorry," she snarled. "You'll be sorry for this. You've done something horrible to him, and you're mad if you think I will just sit here like some helpless maiden and let you hurt him!"

"He doesn't want you," Janos Slynt said, coming forward. Arya took a step backwards. "He doesn't want you, stupid little girl. So just leave well alone."

There was nothing to be done, so she left. When she returned, there were three more.

"You know Gendry," Arya said to Sansa. "He would not be so cruel."

"He hated his father," Sansa said softly.

"He does not!" Arya snapped sharply. "You just don't understand. You're like all the rest of them."

"That's not fair Arya," Sansa said, greatly wounded. "I would never speak ill of Gendry, you know that."

"They think I can't hear them," Arya muttered darkly, fingers clenched around her arms. "Talking about him. They say he did it. They say he's a Kinslayer."

"Robert is not yet dead," Sansa tried to console her, reaching out a tentative hand.

"No," Arya sighed solemnly. "But he will be."

And then where would they be? Her entire body felt twisted and wrong and she was afraid. She was trembling and terrified. Not for herself... But for Gendry. She suddenly realized with a horrible rush of dread and anxiety that this would make him King. The day she had dreaded for years and years had finally come.

"I will pray to the gods," Sansa vowed.

"Keep your gods," Arya told her. They held no weight anywhere. Just smoke and mirrors. _There is only one true god._

Sansa opened her mouth to say something, probably a rebuff at Arya's harsh words, but there came a knock at the door, and both girls jumped. Arya's heart went cold, blood drained from her face and for the first time Sansa too looked afraid. Who could be wanting their company at this hour of the night?

"I will answer it."

Arya hadn't even heard Ned, but there he was, fully dressed and looking like he hadn't even bothered to go to bed. He stood for a moment, and Arya could almost hear the family words in his eyes, in the tense way he held himself; _Winter is coming._

Slowly, he went to the door, while both Arya and Sansa remained motionless. With a deep breath, he opened it.

Arya blinked in surprise.

"Lord Varys?" Sansa sputtered softly. "But what are you doing here at such an hour?" Varys held up a hand.

"There is no time," he said quietly, stepping into the room. "I must ask Lady Arya to come with me in the utmost haste."

Both Ned and Sansa looked at Arya, who stared hard at Lord Varys, trying to figure him out. Her eyes flicked to the table, where Needle sat, having been polished the evening before. There was a low chuckle.

"No need to worry Lady Arya, there is no need for that," Varys said. "But please, I hate to beg but time is of the essence."

_I do not trust him, _Arya decided. _But I do believe him. Varys never does something without a reason, and he would not harm me when both my father and sister know who I will be with._

Wordlessly, she nodded, and strode towards the door, feeling Sansa stiffen with concern and suspicion as she did. Ned just looked solemn, and Arya felt a strange sensation creeping in the back of her mind that he had some sort of knowledge as to what was going on. She was left with only questions as he closed the door behind her.

Varys did not speak to her, or even look at her as they hurried down the darkened corridors. Only servants stirred at these hours, and it was eerie for the castle to be so quiet. It felt, in a strange way, that even the stone knew of Robert's waning life. Could a rock morn? Arya thought of the heart tree back at Winterfell, with it's weeping face and wondered if it had a soul. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself to keep out the warmth.

It was only when they stopped that she spoke.

"Where are the guards?"

"Gone," Varys replied simply as he pulled out a key. "But only for the present."

The lock clicked, and then gently he opened the doors and motioned for her to slip past them and into Gendry's chambers.

There was a pause, and then she saw him. He was laying across the bed, drenched in sweat and delirious. When she raced to him and grabbed him, his eyes were clouded and he barely saw her. His lips were muttering things that were too soft for words and his head lolled from side to side.

"What's wrong with him?" She almost shouted at Varys, who stood off to the side, looking grim.

"Milk of the poppy I'd gather," he said, coming forwards slowly. "And something else. We'd have to ask Maester Pycelle to be sure."

"Will he always be like this?" Arya wondered aloud in horror.

"No," Varys sighed reassuringly. "The effects are not long lasting. It appears they have been sedating him, for reasons unclear."

"Don't lie," Arya snarled, whipping around to face him. "You know why. So he can be a Kinslayer and a Kingslayer!"

"Yes," Varys relented solemnly. "I have worried for some time that this would happen."

"And yet you did nothing!" Arya accused him harshly as Gendry lay limp, his eyes rolling back into and about his head. His skin was hot and feverish.

"What was to be done?" Varys asked. "Should I have alerted the Queen? You are a valiant young woman, Lady Stark, but you are far too honest to play the game. Do not be so quick to judge what you do not understand."

"All I understand," Arya growled violently, "is that Gendry has been rotting away in this room for three days, and you have done nothing!"

"We are here now, are we not?" Varys said calmly. "Perhaps I should have left him here, but I do not serve the Queen."

"Then who do you serve?" Arya snarled.

"The realm, Lady Stark," he replied. "And the realm needs him."

Arya looked back over at Gendry, whose hand she clasped tightly in her own. How could they save him now? When the guards would only stay away so long? And how would they get him to his feet? Surely Varys didn't think that the both of them could carry Gendry...

"Time is running out Lady Stark," Varys said, "but I want to be absolutely sure: how far are you willing to go for him?"

It was no light question. Arya could sense that what was about to happen was bigger than anything she could even imagine. How far would mean that she would ultimately have to choose, and the weight and value of what she would have to sacrifice seemed to consume her and drown her with claws and fangs.

"You know what's going to happen, don't you Lady Stark?" Varys said softly, coming towards her. "When Robert Baratheon dies, and he will, the city will fall, and chaos will be absolute. And do you know what will happen to him?"

Arya did. She looked over at Gendry and she knew.

"They'll kill him," she whispered.

"Our time runs short Lady Arya," Varys told her. "We must leave him."

"No," Arya hissed fiercely. "I cannot. I will not. We have to get him out of here!"

"And we will," Varys whispered. "But not now. Let go my lady, we must take our leave of here."

She felt wretched, but Varys was right. She didn't know how to play the game. How was she supposed to save his life when she couldn't even keep him safe a couple of corridors away? Sickness grabbed at her whole body, as well as a violent, horrible hate. This was all Cersei's doing. Cersei, who Gendry insisted was trustworthy. Cersei, who Gendry would defend to his grave. She had betrayed him.

"Why?" Arya demanded when Ned opened the door for them and locked it. "Why would she do this? Is it not enough that Robert's dead?"

"No," Varys sighed. "It is not."

"Her son will be King," Arya felt, for some reason, tears of panic and confusion beginning to well within her. "Gendry will rule. He will marry me, and Sansa will marry Willas and Myrcella to Dorne and everything will be perfect."

"No, my Lady," Varys corrected her softly. "It won't be. Not for Tywin Lannister."

"Gendry is Robert's true born son," Ned said, looking grave.

"Yes I know!" Arya snapped in extreme frustration.

"His only true born son."

Her mouth swung open, but no words came out. Confusion whirled into her mind. What were they talking about? Ned was looking at her pointedly but it all didn't make any sense.

"I don't understand," she whispered, though she knew not why she whispered. She could not understand any of it. "How can that be...? Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen are all... They are all as well..."

But Varys was shaking his head.

"All fair of hair, perhaps," he said. "All have the looks of lions, but none of them are stags."

Arya looked to her father, questions bubbling up in her throat. He took her hand.

"What I am about to tell you must never leave your lips, you understand?" He said to her softly. Arya nodded numbly.

"There is a reason Tywin Lannister has not arrived for your wedding," Ned explained. "And that is because he is building an army-"

"An army?" Arya gasped in disbelief. "But why?"

"To take back the city from the Kingslayer," Varys said with a relish, "to save the people from the Northern barbarians that defend him."

"But Gendry isn't!" Arya protested. "He didn't do anything-"

"Arya," Ned said gently, placing both hands upon her shoulders. "It is not about what Gendry has done, but what Cersei Lannister is about to do. Robert's death was no accident, and when he dies, she and Tywin Lannister will do everything they can to make sure Gendry does not succeed to the throne."

"Why?" Arya demanded. "He is Cersei's son! Who does she have in mind for the throne instead?"

"Joffrey," Varys said. "With herself as Queen regent."

"But Gendry is of her blood," Arya protested. "He is her son, how could she-?"

"Not her true son," Varys sighed. "Not in Cersei's eyes. Only Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are true Lannisters."

"What are you saying?" Arya shouted. "Will everyone please stop talking in riddles and tell me the truth!"

"Arya, Cersei has committed an act of treason and adultery," Sansa spoke up softly from the table. She had been so quiet that Arya hadn't even known she was there. "When father said Gendry was Robert's only true born son, he spoke the truth. Joffrey, as well as Myrcella and Tommen, are Jaime's children."

"Jaime's?" Arya recoiled sharply. "Jaime Lannister, her brother?"

"Yes," Ned said, looking exhausted. Arya felt disgust and bile bubble in her throat.

"When Robert dies," Varys said, coming forward, "it is very important to Tywin Lannister that Gendry not take the throne. He is not a foolish man, he knows that as soon as your husband-to-be is anointed King, it will mean the end of the Lannister Dynasty. The name Baratheon will rise strong, and the power will go to the Starks, and their family name, so close to power, will fade into dust and ashes."

"Can you honestly see Gendry appointing Tywin Hand of the King?" Sansa asked dully before Arya could even open her mouth. "Or giving his mother any power?"

"With Joffrey on the throne, Tywin can control him," Varys said. "He will be the most powerful man in all of Westeros with the most powerful family, and the Starks and Baratheons will fall in ruin and blood."

"That is why we must get Gendry out of the capital," Ned said softly, hands still on Arya's shoulders. "And you must go with him."

"No!" Arya said at once. "Not without you!"

"I cannot leave now," Ned told her. "Robert is still alive, even if his last breath is about to be drawn, and I cannot fail him. It is my duty, as Hand of the King-"

"But you will die!" Arya cried. "You will all die if you stay!"

"No," Sansa said, standing. "Joffrey will not harm us, it would mean certain war and pain if he did. He is not such a fool. And I am already packing my things. I will leave first thing at morning light and go to Winterfell where we will meet."

"Arya," Ned said, firmly taking her hands. "Gendry cannot travel alone, and I cannot send you with more men to protect you. Varys has promised me that he will ensure your safe passage and I trust him. You must do as he says."

Arya looked over at Varys, the Spider. A man she had never trusted, and never would... But he had taken her to Gendry, and her father believed in him. She did not want to leave her family, but the image of Gendry swarmed in her mind, and she knew that she had no choice. _How far are you willing to go for him? _Varys had asked her, and she now realized that it meant to the ends of the earth and back again. This was bigger than them now. It wasn't even about loving Gendry anymore. It was about keeping him and her family alive.

"What do I have to do?" She asked Varys. The Spider smiled.

"Follow me," he said. "Time is of the essence Lady Stark."

oooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Arya never thought she would wish for Cersei's ghastly wedding dress, but as she sat rigid on the strange bed with scarlet blankets and flickering candles, she did wish for the dress most ardently. It was strange, she contemplated as her stomach rolled in turns, that she should miss something she had so feverishly wanted to go away. The wedding, the dress, all the fussing and pampering. There would be no wedding now, and no dress. No slippers made of silk or obnoxious wedding ceremony. No wedding night.

She felt oddly sad about it. _Perhaps I was looking forward to it as much as dreading it, _she thought quietly, but she angrily brushed it off. How could she have been looking forward to it? How could she have wanted anything Cersei had put her hands on? Of course, now she knew that Cersei had disliked the idea of her marrying Gendry more than Arya had.

There came a squeal and a groan from the room next to her, and she shifted uncomfortably. Looking around the room, she wondered, rather suddenly, if Gendry had ever been to a place like this. But he hadn't, surely not? She had even asked him once, she remembered, that day on the cliffs, and he had said no. The realization brought her little comfort. Whether Gendry had been here or not, this was a whorehouse, and she did not belong in a place of pleasure when there was so much horror to be found.

She shifted slightly, and the wedding dress again sprung to mind. She would have much preferred it. The garment Varys had stuck her in was hardly a garment at all. She wore no corset, and rather than feeling liberated, she felt ill at ease. Her shift hardly covered her breasts, and the laces were low and loose no matter how she fiddled. _I am to look like a whore, _she had to remind herself. _I cannot do up the laces, that would be stupid._

She folder her hands over each other and waited. Waited... Waited.

When the knock came at her door she nearly jumped ten feet. She gripped Needle hard under her cloak and cleared her throat, which was dry and pasty like chalk.

"C-Come in," she said.

The door creaked open, and there was Varys, hidden under a thick brown cloak, and then another figure who followed behind him. They quickly shut and bolted the door as Arya stood, teetering on her feet, wondering if she should go to him, but feeling a strange pull away, as if begging her to run.

"How much does he know?" She asked Varys instead. The Spider looked over at Gendry, whose face was hidden by the hood of his cloak, a scarf pulled over his mouth. When he looked up, all Arya could see were his eyes, dull and empty in the dim light. "Everything."

That was good. She wouldn't have to explain. Again, Arya hesitated, unsure of what to do, of where to go from here.

Varys seemed to understand. He swept to the tapestry at the other side of the small room and paused.

"Go to the end," he whispered softly. "It will bring you just outside the gates. I have arranged for a distraction of the guards. Go through the gates and do not stop. Do not stop until it is absolutely of the essence that you do."

"I understand," Arya said, taking Gendry's hand.

"I sincerely hope that you do, lady Stark," Varys sighed, and with that as a goodbye, he placed his hand against the tapestry, pulled it aside, and pushed at a panel of wood. There was a creek, and a snap, and then silently a hidden door swung open, and a dark gaping hole loomed in front of them.

Swallowing the panicked buzzing in her throat, Arya tightened her hold on Gendry's hand, and ploughed forward into the darkness. At once she stopped short, blinking like an owl and blind.

"Need this?" There was a fizzing sound, and then the crackling of flames, and she turned to see Gendry hold a torch for her as the door swung shut behind them. She blushed, feeling stupid, and took it from him.

They did not speak. The tunnel was long, and winding, and more than once they had to stoop and crouch, Gendry's shoulders almost too wide to fit through, as they crept along the darkness. Rats skirted about her feet, but Arya gritted her teeth and tried not the think about all the moving shapes in the darkness. It felt like hours. Perhaps it was only minutes, but it felt so long, and more than once she thought she heard the sounds of Hounds behind them.

When the door appeared in front of them, she thought she would collapse in relief.

They left the torch to burn low in the tunnel, and made their way through the streets. No one gave them so much of a look. Arya's cloak was thin, her face was painted. There were a dozen other women exactly like her pulling men along. They were nothing out of the ordinary, and as Arya saw the gates, she marveled at how _easy_ it had all been.

"And just where do you think you might be going?"

Arya froze, and her hand slid to Gendry's cold wrist, fingers pressing softly against his pulse. Stealing her breath, she turned slowly to see the two gate guards walking up to them, snickering, one of them doing up his breeches as he went. She swallowed hard and flexed her fingers against the hilt of Needle hidden beneath her bare garments.

"Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be out wandering alone at such an hour," one of them chuckled. His eyes glinted under his gilded helmet.

"She's not alone," Gendry's voice growled from behind her, and Arya felt icy sweat trickle down her spine as she winced visibly. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"And who might you be?" the other guard asked, hand now upon the hilt of his sword.

"Just a man seeking his pleasure," Gendry snapped, grabbing Arya's wrist roughly. "Is that a crime?"

"Do you only find pleasure outside the city gates?" the first guard inquired suspiciously, and Arya felt Gendry's frozen pause of panic. Her mind raced for a good lie, heart beating wildly, but she was too nervous and strung tight to think of anything to say.

"You remind me of someone," the other guard said, leaning down and trying to make out Gendry's face. "Why is that? Have I met you before?"

"I doubt it," Gendry said hoarsely. "I'm not from here."

"Something about this just isn't right..."

"Fine then," Gendry snapped, tightening his grip on Arya's arm. "We'll just go back where we came from and I'll take my money's worth there."

There was a pause, and for a moment Arya was sure they would let them go-

_BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._ The bells rang throughout the entire city, and all of a sudden what was dead and dark and hollow was suddenly alive and screaming. It was all over, Arya realized. They were supposed to have breached the city's walls by now, and it was all too late.

"What's going on?" The guard shouted, drawing his sword and pointing it at them. "What's going on here ehh?"

"Wait a second," the second guard said, looking at Gendry's face, eyes wide in revelation. "You're the Pri-"

Arya barely thought. When she looked back on it, she could scarcely remember one move from the next, but all she knew was that she panicked. She panicked, and one minute the guard was coming towards Gendry, and the next she had ripped Needle from her belt and thrashed the blade into his neck, driving the steel through flesh and bone. Blood spurted across her hands, face and neck as she wrenched Needle free, but before she could even process what she had done, there was the sickening crack of broken bone and Gendry roared in pain.

"Stop or he dies!"

The guard had Gendry by what looked like a freshly broken arm, the blade of his sword against his throat. Blood coated the sword. It dripped down Gendry's neck. Arya's eyes flicked over his body and she saw a stain of flowering red blossoming across Gendry's tunic at his side.

"Kingslayer," the guard giggled in Gendry's ear as Gendry strained with gritted teeth. "Kinslayer. Two in one, that is. I wonder how much they'll pay me for bringing you in?"

"Not much," Gendry snarled, and then he bashed his head against the guard's skull.

The blow wasn't much, but it was enough to render the guard distracted for a split second, enough for Gendry to stomp of his foot, and Arya to rush forward. The guard swung around and their swords clashed, Needle shaking under the strain-the blade snapped from her hands and fell to the ground, the guards sword striking down and slashing her just above the eye. Arya screamed in pain.

But suddenly, the guard was gasping, and blood was coughing out of his mouth, hot onto Arya's face, and as he fell, Gendry slid his sword from his back, his face drained of blood, eyes hollow. Arya rushed and caught him just in time.

"Hurry," she gasped, throwing his arm around her. "Before more come."

With shaking hands, she pushed the gates open and they ran blindly forth into the unknown, darkness opening it's great mouth and swallowing them whole as the bells tolled loudly and the city set itself to flame with shouts and chaos. _The King is dead! The Prince has killed him! The Kingslayer has escaped!_

But Arya heard none of it. All she did was run, and pull Gendry with her, until her breath was raw and her legs chafed and shook. But still they ran. They ran until finally Gendry could run no more and nearly collapsed on top of her, and then they stopped, gasping and choking, unable to go any further.

The clouds parted and the moon shone, brightly and innocently against the dark.

There was a moment of stunned silence. They both stood there, shell shocked, gazing open mouthed into the sky. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion hit Arya, nearly bringing her to her knees. It was as if it had been held back by some invisible force, only unleashed on her at that moment.

"Oh Gendry," she moaned, sinking to her knees. Putting her head in her hands, Arya realized for the first time that they were shaking.

"It's all right Arya. We are all right, we are safe," Gendry said softly, kneeling down and putting his arms around her, but he didn't sound so convinced himself. His hands were strong, but she felt the shadow of his body and it seeped of his grief.

"I was so sure that you... That we..." she shuttered, leaning into him.

"I know," Gendry whispered back, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "You were absolutely amazing Arya. Do you know that? Absolutely amazing."

"I was so scared," she admitted quietly, embarrassed.

"So was I. I can't believe I lead you into that! If we... If you hadn't...I would have never been able to forgive myself. I still can't forgive myself. This is all my fault. You should have stayed in King's Landing... With your family..." Gendry said, clenching his fists in fury.

"Don't. How were you to know about this? If I had stayed my head might be on a spike right now, and I know my father can take care of himself. This isn't your fault at all. This was all Cersei's doing... I should have known," Arya whispered, taking his fists and smoothing them out. They were wet, and red with blood.

"You're bleeding," she gasped, her fingers reaching out and lingering on his blood soaked tunic. He looked down at it as if remembering for the first time he had been stabbed.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a nick," Gendry said. She shook her head.

"I'd better attend to it before it gets worse," she said, peering at his flesh through his shirt.

"No, it's fine, really. You're bleeding too," Gendry said, touching the gash on her face. She winced. "Besides, you'd probably make it worse. I should have brought Sansa."

"I can attend to both," Arya rebuffed him. "There's a creek over nearby. We can wash your wounds there."

"As my lady commands," Gendry relented and Arya fought off the urge to punch him. They both got up and set out towards the creek, which was only a few feet away.

"You'll have to take your tunic off," Arya said, trying to sound casual. Gendry didn't bat an eyelash but pulled it over his head. She gave a little gasp. There was a gash cutting into his left side that stretched deep.

"A nick? Are you mad?" She demanded, furious. He winced.

"It doesn't hurt that much, not compared to my arm," he admitted. She had forgotten about his broken arm. Poor Gendry, he had really gotten a beating.

"Sit," she commanded, reaching down and tearing a bit of her dress and then dipping it into the water.

"Nice dress," Gendry said with a roughish grin that echoed the old days when he used to flirt with her almost as shamelessly as the boys on the street. Arya scowled as she dabbed the dried blood off his side.

"I'm burning it as soon as I can find something else to wear," she said darkly. He chuckled.

"Why? I think it suits you," he said, his eyes lingering on the low cut of the night gown. She gave him a cuff on the head.

"Ow! You would hit a cripple?" Gendry laughed, his blue eyes dancing.

"Prince Gendry of the Seven Kingdoms, I had no idea you were such an obnoxious rake. Well, actually I did. But really, of all the moments..." Arya snapped, trying to pull the dress up. Gendry's smile slid off his face at once, his eyes sad a weary.

"Sorry," he sighed, "I shouldn't have said that. Not after tonight. I thought perhaps some humor..."

"I would say it's all right, but it's not," Arya smiled, now attending to his bruised face. Gendry shook his head, looking off into the trees. She wet the cloth again and then dabbed a particularly nasty looking cut above his eye. He winced.

"You'll live," Arya laughed, cleaning it some more.

"Yes, but at what cost? Tell me, are my looks much altered?" Gendry asked seriously. She snorted.

"Trust me, anything is an improvement from before," she replied. He rolled his eyes.

"Do you really find me that repulsive? I mean, you have expressed your opinion about my looks before but I cannot tell if you are jesting or not," he asked, giving Arya a penetrating look. She leaned back on her feet and stared back at him, pretending to appraise him.

"No, you are not so very repulsive perhaps. But it is very fun to tease you about it," Arya admitted with an encouraging look. Gendry couldn't help but smile. Maybe he was right. Humor, even flirting, seemed like a breath of wonderful fresh air after the hell they had just been through, like they could forget the horror... Arya took the strips from her dress and wrapped them around Gendry's wound. They used part of his cloak as a sling. She moved to wash her face.

"Here, let me," Gendry said hastily, stopping her hand, his fingers warm over hers.

There was a moment, one where they paused and gazed at their hands. He looked up at her questioningly, and for once she gazed back. For a second, the briefest of seconds, Arya thought he might kiss her. It was crazy and entirely irrational, but there it was. What was even stranger was she fancied she wouldn't mind if he did.

Then he gave an odd little cough, dipped his hand in the cold water and then ran his thumb over the cut. It stung but she tried to look indifferent. When he had dabbed the cut dry, his hand still lingered there, just barely touching her face.

"Thank you," she said, truly meaning it. Gendry gave her a small smile.

"It's nothing," he sighed and looked away, chewing his lip, "Nothing compared to what you've done for me."

Arya was dumbstruck for the very first time. Her mind and all its wit, had failed her. What had she done for him, other than cause him a world of misery? Nothing. But she didn't have to say anything because Gendry turned, gave her one last long look and let out another great sigh.

"We should find a place to sleep before the sun comes up," he said, getting to his feet. "Somewhere safe, where no one will find us."

"Yes," Arya replied stupidly, also getting to her feet and watching him stride away.

She washed her hands in the creek slowly, letting the water drip from her fingers, numbing them. The weight of what they had been through still made her hands shake. She dried them on her dress and stood up.

Gendry had collapsed under a heap of bushes, scooting slightly so he was completely hidden from view. The ground was dark and muddy, but she pushed herself through it and wriggled down under the bush and next to Gendry.

He hugged her close, for warmth or comfort Arya did not know. Whether it was one or the other, she did not mind. It felt almost necessary to cling to him as well, as they lay huddled under bushes, the air sharp and cold, the ground damp and chilled as well. Even with his hulk around her, she shivered.

"Did I ever tell you about the present my father gave me for my sixteenth nameday?" Gendry asked softly in the silence. He stared up at the sky, his eyes wondering, going from star to star as if tracing a memory.

"No," Arya replied, playing along. "What did he get you?"

"A whore," Gendry said with a sad sort of chuckle. "Two of them, actually."

"Really?" Arya said, sitting up and looking at him. This time he did laugh, tears streaming at his eyes. The laugh was tampered with a wheeze of pain.

"Yes," he said.

"What did you do?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. "You didn't bed them, did you?"

"Arya Stark, are you calling me a liar?" He teased, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her neck felt icy cold, like frozen fingers dipping down over her skin. She raised an eyebrow as she waited for an answer. "I panicked, of course. I sent them straight back to the brothel. God I was so red in the face I almost contracted a fever."

Arya snorted with laughter.

"I can only imagine it," she said, adopting a husky voice, "'You're as strong as an ox, my prince. Let me have a go at those great big arms.'"

"Shut up," Gendry snapped, his face turning red, and she laughed, lying back down next to him. They relapsed into silence, watching the stars.

"But he did try though," Gendry said softly, and there was a thickness in his voice. "He did do that, in his way. Maybe if I hadn't... Maybe if I tried to be more like him... I should not have lost my temper with him. I should not have let my last words to my father be angry ones." His words became choked and he closed his eyes. Silent tears of grief slid from the cracks in his eyes, but he would not seek comfort from Arya. She didn't know if it was because he did not want to impose her, or because he could not face his feelings by exposing them in the open. He had learned so well to harden himself to the world, as she had.

So, she stayed silent, curled against him, until morning came and creeped into the sky. When the darkness was all gone, they rose silently, and, without a word, followed the creek North. They walked until the sun rose high in the blue expanse of sky and beat down against them through the trees. Beads of sweat were running down Gendry's face, and he looked near fainting, so Arya let him sit, and thought of what to do next.

She was filthy, covered with muck and grime, and her skin itched with a fiery persistence so much so that she knew she wouldn't be able to sit without screaming until she bathed. The creek had widened out and was deeper now, so she dragged Gendry to sit under a tree, and then, very carefully, listening constantly for anything out of the ordinary, she edged towards the creek.

"Don't look," Arya command sternly, glaring at Gendry with everything she could muster. He chuckled and shook his head.

"I'll try," he teased.

"Gendry, if I see your eyes wander a fraction in my direction I'll-"

"-Chop up my innards and eat them for breakfast. I get it," Gendry cut off her furious rant with a wave of his hand. "I was only joking."

"Yeah, well you had better be," Arya snapped.

"I have a little self control, you know," Gendry said grumpily, playing with the blades of grass scattered on the ground.

Arya let out a loud sigh.

"I'm just protecting my modesty, all right?" She explained, trying not to sound exasperated. Gendry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I got that," he said sarcastically. "Just go take your bath. I'll be fine here, with my tree."

He pointed to the bark he was leaning against and it was Arya's turn to roll her eyes.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" She asked, worried again. It was just that Gendry looked so fragile, pale against the golden sunlight and sweat across his brow. She worried to let him out of her sight.

"You'll be less then five yards away," Gendry snorted. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll talk to you throughout the whole ordeal."

"All right," she relented, retreating backwards until she was at the river bank, the mud and water lapping at her feet.

She pulled her boots off, and then worked her fingers through the knot that held her cloak together, recoiling slightly at the sight her feet and body presented. Her nightdress was plastered to her skin, stained with sweat, and when she peeled it off, Arya scrunched her nose at the smell. Yes, this would definitely need to be washed as well.

She striped off her stockings, caked with dirt, and remain in her shift. She shivered, despite the fact that it was absolutely boiling outside, and chanced a look at Gendry. All Arya could see was the back of his head. He was keeping his word. No peeking.

Swallowing the nervous feeling in her stomach, Arya pulled her shift over her head, and threw it on the ground, completely naked.

"If you look now I'll kill you," she shouted at Gendry, wrapping her arms around herself.

"What?" Gendry piped up. "Is there something to see?"

Arya whipped her head around, but he wasn't looking. Just relishing the situation.

Scowling, even though he couldn't see her, she dipped her toes in the water and waded in. It felt so refreshing, so cleansing, that she sighed.

When she was waist deep, she felt something skirt around her. Arya jerked her eyes downwards, saw a fish, just before it's tail gave her a good thwack on the calf, and before she could stop herself, she let out a yell.

"Arya!" Gendry shouted, whipping his head around.

"GENDRY!" She screamed, slapping her arms around her body to cover up and tripping backwards, falling into the water with an all mighty crash.

Arya surfaced, spitting water out of her mouth and furious. Gendry looked frantic.

"I didn't see anything!" He shouted guiltily, but his face was bright red and Arya was pretty sure it was not from the excessive amount of sunlight.

"I'm going to kill you," she mumbled darkly, sinking deep into the water so that only her head was visible.

"I thought that something bad had happened! You screamed-"

"I did not scream," Arya snapped.

"Yes well, that is one man's opinion," Gendry shot back.

She glared at him, and he turned his head back around so that all Arya could see was his hair shinning black in the bright sunlight.

"So what was it then?" Gendry called, still facing away from her. "Did you slip?"

"No," Arya muttered, slightly embarrassed. "It was a fish."

"A fish? You screamed like that because of a fish?" Gendry barked with indignant laughter. "The mighty wolf indeed!"

"Would you stop that? I did not scream!" Arya shouted, rubbing the grime and sweat off her arms.

"Yes, well... Next time you see a fish, can you try to remain remotely calm? You really scared me there," Gendry said and Arya could see him playing with the grass again. His voice had dropped its teasing tone.

"Oh," Arya said, taken aback. Anger washed away, she found herself blushing slightly. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Gendry reassured her. "I am... just a little jumpy, I suppose. You know, after all that has happened."

Arya could understand completely.

She dunked her head again, weaving her fingers through her water soaked hair. She washed her face, hands, and legs as best she could without soap. It felt like she was shedding her skin, just like snakes did, as though with every piece of dirt, every bad thing is being removed from her.

"It _is_ hot out," Gendry commented. "It feels as though this summer will never end."

"Yes," Arya agreed, "but the water will cool you down."

There was a long pause.

"Maybe I don't need a bath," Gendry said so quietly Arya almost don't hear him.

"Trust me," she laughed, "you definitely do."

She could hear Gendry sigh, and she turned to look at the back of his head. He was picking the grass again.

"It's just... I don't think I can," he mumbled, and all at once Arya can tell he was humiliated. "I mean... I mean physically. It's hard enough walking."

"Oh," she said, her voice faltering slightly. "Oh that's all right. I can help you."

"No," Gendry snapped at once. "No, you don't have to do that."

"Yes I do," Arya said. "You smell worse than a sewer rat. It's for my own sanity really, I don't think I can take it any longer."

Gendry tentatively looked over at her, his expression so cautious that she found herself smiling. Arya laughed, and he did too, the corners of his mouth pulling in a lopsided grin.

"Well, thanks then," he chuckled. "I suppose."

"Yes," Arya said. "I'm coming out now, so turn around. AND NO PEEKING!"

"Really?" Gendry said in such deep sarcasm that she rolled her eyes. He turned around and she could see him cross his arms over his chest.

Arya rushed out of the water as fast as she could and snatched up her cloths. She had her shift on, and just as she was about to pull her nightdress over her head, she realized that she'll have to wash it along with her pants. There's no point in being clean when your clothes are dirty.

"Gendry?" Arya shouted out tentatively.

"Yeah?" His head jerked to turn around, but he stopped himself.

"Don't get too excited," Arya said venomously.

This time he couldn't help himself, his head whipped around, the stupidest smile smacked across his face. Arya yelped and clasped her arms around herself, but then realize how stupid she was being. After all, she was all covered up in the right places. There was nothing to be afraid of. Besides, she reminded herself bitterly, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Gendry definitely saw more of her then he was seeing now.

"You've finally succumbed to your deep passion for me? I knew it!" He said gleefully, winking at her.

"Oh shut up," Arya snapped. "I'm going to wash my cloths, all right? But it will take them a while to dry, so I'm going to do that first, and then help you take a bath."

Gendry nodded enthusiastically.

"And wipe that stupid smile off your face," she growled.

He didn't even try.

She scrubbed out the sweat and dirt and fear out of her clothes, her eyes constantly darting to Gendry, to make sure he was not peeking. Despite looking like he had been given the greatest gift known to man kind, Gendry apparently would not be taking advantage of it. The thought made her slightly more at ease.

When Arya had finished, she took her soaking wet garments and hung them over the branches of the tree, behind Gendry so he couldn't see her. It was silly, because she was going to have to help him in about two minutes, but she ignored that thought.

Pausing, Arya let out all the air in her lungs.

"You okay over there?" Gendry's voice drifted from around the tree.

"Yes," Arya sighed, coming around, trying not to wrap her arms around her body. It was funny that she should be this way, when he was, after all, her betrothed. But was he even anymore? They weren't in King's Landing anymore, he wasn't even a Prince anymore. So what were they to each other now?

"You don't have to do this, you know," Gendry said, picking up on her discomfort almost immediately. "I don't want you to feel unsafe-"

"Stop," Arya said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It's fine."

Gendry raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

Arya gingerly knelt down and wrapped her arm around his torso, feeling him put his arm around her shoulders for support. Arya could sense Gendry's anxiety, his eyes determined to look anywhere but her, and felt another pang of guilt for an unknown reason. Perhaps it was because she had entertained the idea of leaving him, when it was all over. Of not being his wife.

Once they lumbered to the edge of the water, Gendry sat on a rock and then took off his tunic and handed it to her. She could see Gendry's eyes flick to hers uneasily as he peeled his shirt from his skin, but she was determined not to be uncomfortable and took the balled up shirt from him briskly, going over to the water to wash it while he finished undressing.

Besides, Arya reminded herself as she watched Gendry out of the corner of her eye as he stood to take off his breeches, it was not like there was anything romantic between them. Nothing except Gendry's feelings for her, of course, which bitterly reminded her of how wrong she was in that assumption. She should feel sympathy for Gendry, because this must be much more awkward for him then it was for her, but she didn't. Arya felt put out about it, because if he didn't have those feelings for her, she wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. It was unfair, and Arya felt wretched about it, but it was true.

"Umm... I'm ready," Gendry coughed, and she could see him shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Arya closed her eyes for a moment and put all the thoughts she had just been thinking out of her head.

"Good," she chirped, standing up and laying his cloths across a wide rock to dry. "Let's just-"

Her voice caught in her throat when she turned around, and she felt her heart drop.

Gendry's skin was hot and angry, festering under the bandage that stuck to the wound like death, stained dark with blood. Against the red he was flushed pale and shaking, but more than that, now that there was light... She could see his skin was covered with fresh and yellowing bruises, and it almost looked... In places, like the flesh was raw and blistering, and she realized with horror that drugging him wasn't the only thing that they had done.

"Don't," Gendry said at once, shuddering slightly and blinking rapidly. "Don't say anything."

Arya couldn't if she wanted to. For once, she was absolutely speechless.

She brought her fingers to her eyes, and found that they had welled with tears. Hurriedly, she blinked them back, forcing the water to remain beneath her lids.

"I..." she stammered out, "I-I wasn't going to."

There was a terribly awkward silence, and for the second time she saw Gendry near tears. Never had she seen him so broken. So sad, and so alone. She felt ashamed to have ever thought of not loving him.

"Can we just get this over with?" He snapped, but his voice was slightly thick and he was blinking again. Arya nodded numbly, walking over to take his hand and help him into the water.

"Do you think I could just sit?" Gendry asked when they were up to their calves, and Arya nodded again, helping to lower him gently into a sitting position. Once he was securely settled, she knelt next to him.

"You don't have to help me," Gendry protested at once when she started rubbing the dirt off his hands. "I'm fine."

Arya ignored him and continued by cupping water onto his arms and helping to wash that dirt away too. For some reason, she just couldn't leave him right then. Not after what she'd seen. Not when he was so broken.

He stopped his protests, probably because they were fruitless, and she could sense him watching as she continued to scoop water onto him. Slowly, he began to join her, letting Arya drip water onto his arms and body while he rubbed the dirt away.

Gingerly, Arya reached out and brushed his hair back, her fingers twisting with the dark threads. When wet, it almost looked like the color of a bottomless pit.

Gendry looked over at her when she did this, straight into her eyes. Arya froze, struck with the thought of what a deep color his eyes were, almost like storm clouds, and wondering how she hadn't noticed before.

Then she caught Gendry's expression. For one moment, he let his guard down, and she could see, really see, what was in his heart instead of what was on his face. And she saw it, in his eyes, in his lips, in everything about him, how heartbroken he was. How desperately he wanted her to love him in return, and how he knew she never would.

Arya pulled back, as a reflex, the place where her hand was leaving drops of water. They slid down Gendry's face like tears.

"I can take it from here," he said, avoiding her gaze, and Arya knew at once that he knew she had seen it. Straight into his soul, and that it frightened her.

"No."

They were both surprised by her declaration. Arya was more then ready to get up and scramble away from Gendry and all his feelings that were far too real, but suddenly she realized that what she said is how she felt. She was tired of running. From King's Landing. From the Lannisters. From Gendry.

"No," she said more softly. "I want to help."

Gendry raised his eyebrows as she scooped up more water and poured it on his head. Arya watched for a moment as it wove its way through his hair, running down his face and body in little waterfalls.

"You don't have to take care of me," he told her, looking down, his cheeks flushing slightly with humiliation. "Not now... Not at all."

His words struck Arya and she blanched slightly. What he was suggesting... What he was suggesting is outrageous. Ludicrous. To leave him to fend for himself in the woods? While Arya did what? Run away free, knowing that he would eventually die?

"What kind of person do you think I am?" Arya all but yelled, stung and angry.

"I just don't want you to feel burdened-"

"I risked my life getting you out of the city!" She shrieked, pointing madly into the wilderness, as if King's Landing was in that direction, though she hadn't a clue that it was. "Do you honestly think I would just leave you here because it might slow me down a bit?"

"Slow you down a bit?" Gendry snorted darkly. "I can't even bathe myself."

"Yeah, well I'd be shocked if you could," Arya snapped angrily. "After-"

Her voice faltered slightly and Gendryy tensed, waiting for her to mention the torture.

"-After you got stabbed!" She finished, still thunderous. "The suggestion of me leaving you anywhere, even for a second, is ridiculous!"

Gendry blinked, having the good grace to look slightly guilty. Her expression must have looked murderous, because he paled, his heat-flushed cheeks turning white.

"Don't ever mention that again!" Arya snapped, glaring at him. "All right?"

He didn't reply.

"Don't!" She demanded angrily, leaping to her feet. "I'm not leaving you behind ever! Got that? Not ever!"

His stunned expression said it all. She made him speechless, and she doubted it was the first time either. Good, then maybe he learned his lesson.

"We're in this together," Arya said again, firmly. "Remember?"

Gendry looked out over the thin strip of water.

"All right."

"Now lets get you out of there, or do you want me to help you wash your hair?" She demanded, crossing her arms.

"I don't want you to help me," he said at once, so naturally Arya marched back into the water and started scooping handfuls of it into his hair, weaving her fingers through the wet mass of dark threads.

"You'll never do as you're told, will you?" Gendry scoffed softly, letting her wash his hair. Arya didn't answer. "Or is it because you saw the scars?"

The question hit her out of no where. She didn't even see it coming, but it struck deep and she realized it was true. And now he would hate her for pitying him.

"I knew it. I knew that's why you were being so nice to me," he sighed.

"I don't want to talk about them."

Arya nearly clapped a hand over her mouth when she said this, because she was utterly shocked that the words left her mouth, but she stopped herself at once. Clapping her hand over her mouth would probably add insult to injury, and that was just something she couldn't afford at this point.

"Don't look so ashamed," Gendry said darkly. "It's the only truly honest thing you've ever said to me."

"That's not fair," Arya protested at once, tears starting to prick her eyes. "You know that's not fair."

"Maybe it's not," he sighed "but it's true."

There was a moment of silence, and then suddenly, before she could help herself, she burst out angrily-

"Fine! You're right! But did you ever consider for a second that I did all this because I actually care about you?"

Gendry's surprise was evident, but Arya was glaring at him so fiercely she didn't even care. He shouldn't be surprised. Hadn't all her actions proved this? Risking her neck? Saving his life? Did that count for nothing?

"Honestly I just thought you were doing your duty to your family," he says frankly. "That you needed to get me out alive because I'm the crown prince, and your father wanted to make sure you were out of the city safely."

"If he had wanted that, he would have sent me with a dozen of our bannermen!" Arya retorted at once. "Besides, I operate better when I'm alone!"

Gendry snorted.

"I do!"

"Is that so? Without me last night that guard would have cut your guts out and strung them up for decoration," he chuckled.

"Well then isn't it lucky that we're a team? Hmmm?" Arya snapped, still glaring at him.

"I thought you just said you operate better-"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID!" She roared, frustrated. "And I know what you said too! We're in this together!"

"I suppose," he finally relented, tracing patterns in the water with the tips of his fingers. Arya leaned back with a satisfied victory smile.

"Now let's see about getting you out of here," she said curtly.

She helped him to his feet, though this time it was harder seeing as he was drenched from head to toe. He slipped a few times, but once Gendry was out of the water, the hot air seemed to suck away the droplets, causing his skin to slowly dry.

"I need to lie down," he said faintly.

"All right," Arya agreed, and they walked over to the edge of the woods, to where the tall grasses were, swaying in the warm air. Gently, she lowered him down, and then, when his arm slid off her shoulder, she laid down next to him.

There was a sigh, as if all of nature, in that moment, was content. It was so nice, just laying there. Not worrying about anything, letting the warm sun suck away at Arya's anxiety, fear and impending sense of doom. She closed her eyes.

"You know it's strange," Gendry piped up next to her. "I would have thought we'd see at least one horde of gold cloaks riding about."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked, opening her eyes to survey him through the blades of grass.

"It's just, aren't they looking for us?" He wondered, frowning. Even with the frown, there was something different about him here. Serene.

"I'm sure they are," Arya sighed, staring up at the clouds drifting lazily across the heavens.

"Then why haven't we seen a them? Shouldn't there be hundreds swarming the woods?" Gendry demanded.

Arya sighed. All this worrying was making her head hurt.

"Go to sleep Gendry," she snapped, closing her eyes again.

"I would," he said, and there was no hiding the mischievous note in his voice, "but you're lying here, barely clothed, and I'm not sure I can trust my dreams to behave."

Arya rolled her eyes and tried to bite the smile that was trying its very best to wiggle its way onto her lips. Normally, Gendry was very guarded with this sort of teasing, but things just felt different here. It didn't feel real, like he meant it, and she didn't think he did. It was a way to sort of distance themselves from themselves. To tease and poke fun and be smallfolk lovers in the woods rather than two very scared, very vulnerable people with no idea what to do next. She was glad of it, him acknowledging the awkwardness, taking her mind off the tension. Behind the joke there was a frown of worry in his brow, and she could sense that he knew he was causing her anxiety with all his talk.

"You're doing it again," she said.

"Doing what?" He asked far too innocently.

"Making me uncomfortable on purpose."

"What? Me?" Gendry gasped in mock indignation. "I would never!"

"Just go to sleep."

She didn't have to tell him twice. The next time she looked over at him he was sound asleep, his head turned towards her, breathing softly. His expression was completely clear, almost dopey, and she couldn't help but smile at how, well, almost childish he looked.

At the same time, now that she told Gendry to go to sleep to stop worrying her, the only thing she could seem to do is worry. He was right. Shouldn't there be a swarm of guards scanning the woods with their hounds and horses? Shouldn't they have been found by now, separated, and then brutally put to death? Why was everything so quiet?

If there was one thing Arya could always rely on with Cersei, it was that she was ruthless when it came to things like rule breaking. Arya didn't think she was mistaken when she assumed they had broken more then a few rules back there, right under her very nose. Something like that shouldn't have just caused Cersei Lannister to sit around, twiddling her thumbs, wondering what to do next. No, she should be out hunting them. She should have been done hunting them. They should be dead. They probably should have died at the gate, if Arya was going to be totally honest. So why were they still alive?

The fact that the Lannisters suddenly chose to ignore their very obvious escape caused Arya to shiver, despite the fact that it was boiling outside. She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself and decided that no matter how hard she tried, she was not going to get any rest for a very long time. Her brain simply wouldn't shut up.

Her eyes fell on Gendry, sleeping peacefully, and a sudden wave of anxiety hit Arya, crushing her stomach. He might be asleep then, but he would wake up later, and by then any traces of strength would be gone. By Arya's estimations he had broken a few ribs, and not only that he had been tortured severely. Her fingers clenched around her shoulders as Arya remember the scars, fresh and angry. They probably hurt a world more then he would ever let on. He was in pretty bad shape, considering. How on earth was she going to keep him alive?

His words about her deserting him echo in my mind, but she dig her nails into her skin angrily, furious at myself for even letting the thought enter her head. Like it or not, Gendry and Arya were joined together, and despite the fact that he had driven her mad half the time, he was special to her. A friend, a real, true friend. Arya could never leave him behind.

He was the only one she had left.

But that brought her back to keeping him alive. They had a knife, and Needle, though the steel looked near to shattering despite it's quality. Arya could try to hunt with that, but she never had proper shooting practice and she had no idea how handy she would be with a knife. Besides, rabbits were fast and they were probably the only game around there. Maybe they would come across a wild deer, but Arya couldn't bet on the off chance of that. She needed a plan.

And suddenly she remembered the fish. If she could catch anything, that would keep them alive for a few days at least. And what about cooking it? Even if there weren't any gold cloaks that was out of the question. They could be lying in wait, just sitting around until they sent them a perfect signal as to where they were.

No, if they caught anything, they would have to eat it raw. Her stomach curled at the thought, but opposed to starving to death what other alternative did they have? Arya may not have liked the idea of gulping down raw fish meat but she didn't have a choice. It was not about comfort anymore, it was about survival.

With that in mind, how were they supposed to survive? She needed a plan, but what? She wracked her brains. _Think Arya, think!_

But there were so many drifters on the Kingsroad and in the woods... Perhaps no one would notice? That was stupid. How could they not notice? Gendry stank of Baratheon. One glance at him and it was so glaringly obvious as to who he was someone might as well stick a sign around his neck. Clean shaven face, fine clothes, what else could he be but the crown prince? And she, Lady Arya... Well she was dressed in whores clothes, but she still looked like a wolf. They could not continue on this way or they would be caught and gutted before they could even scream.

Again her skin itched, and she scratched her hand, annoyed and utterly perturbed at her crucial lack of innovation. She fiddled with Needle, twirling it about with nimble fingers, pushing her hair out of her eyes...

Her hair! All at once it seemed so abundantly obvious. She leapt to her feet, with little idea was to why, and grabbed it all in one hand. Pausing, she felt it one last time as it slid, soft, through her fingers, and then she began to saw. She wrenched Needle' blade through her lady's hair until it was only chunks that hung by her ears in uneven wisps. When she bent down to look at her reflection in the water, she hardly looked like a woman at all.

But what to do about Gendry? Arya dug her nails into her angry red hand, and then she paused, cursing slightly. Poison ivy. She could see it, growing in the lush shade of the creek bed, and wanted to kick herself for being so stupid and careless. If they were going to be traveling in the woods, she needed to start being more aware of her surroundings. The skin on her hand was grotesque now, bubbling and distorted.

She paused.

Gendry slept peacefully. Innocently.

_Can I? _She thought, chewing her lip and shivering slightly, though there wasn't a breeze or a chill. She was wasting time. He would awaken soon, and by then it would be too late. He was already in so much pain...

Shivering off the quaking feeling in her stomach, Arya marched over to the gnarled ivy and then, taking a deep breath, she wrenched it in her hand and yanked a chunk away. Sharp pain issued from the irritated place on her hands, but she ignored it, creeping towards Gendry, heart in her mouth. Leaning down, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

"Forgive me," she muttered. "It's for your own good."

Gritting her teeth, she took the leaves and rubbed them all over his face. Gendry awoke at once, coughing and sneezing, batting her hands away as she tried to make sure the leaves touched every part of his skin.

"What are you doing?" He yelled, but it was too late. He had come in contact with the plant, and sooner or later, his skin would erupt with blisters and boils, hopefully enough to alter his appearance until she could think of something better. "What have you done to your hair?"

"Necessary precautions," Arya snapped, throwing away the ivy before he could get a good look at it. "It was time for you to get up. We need to get moving."

Getting Gendry fully clothed and to his feet was a laborious process, and the more he moved, the sicker he looked. She fashioned him a walking stick, but that did little good. His bandage was soaked, and as the sun went down in the heavens, his skin began to blister. They walked very slow, and the slower they went, the more Arya heard hooves in the distance, pounding at their heels.

By the time the sun had set, Gendry could no longer walk on his own. Arm slung around him, Arya took every step at his side. His face began to burn, and he groaned and cried in pain, clawing and scratching and swearing at her, his skin beginning to swell. They stopped by the creek again and he dipped his hands in water, rubbing the coolness on his face, but it did little to no good. She had doubled his pain, and guilt like hot iron ore stabbed at Arya's heart, but even in the dark he began to look less and less like himself, and that was the only thing that kept her going.

"Come on Gendry," Arya groaned, her heart hammering in her chest from over exertion and her muscles beginning to quiver, as if telling her they would soon give way. She gasped for breath, trying to pull herself together. They must be close. They must be.

"I can't," Gendry gasped out, surging forwards and tripping over his own feet. "Arya I can't."

She know he couldn't. Arya knew that if she was exhausted, if she was hungry, if she was near collapsing, it was nothing, _nothing_ compared to how Gendry must be feeling. She couldn't even look at him, because she knew if she did she would let him give up. Arya would let him fall to the ground and she'd stay there with him. And then they'd both be done for.

"Come on," Arya grunted furiously, her fingers clamped on his wrist with such fierceness Gendry knew a struggle to free himself would be fruitless. She was practically dragging him, but she didn't care. Arya would drag him across the entire damn world until she found a place for them to stay.

"Arya," his voice hissed out feebly between ragged puffs of breath, "Arya please. _Please._"

"NO!" She shouted angrily, tears beginning to prick at her eyes as she stumbled blindly in the blackness, throughly lost and now coming to the horror that she had no idea where she was going. Arya was totally and utterly lost.

The thought propelled her forward, but she could feel she was starting to lose her vigor. Tears of panic began to well in her eyes as Arya dragged Gendry through the darkened forest and into the ever increasing unknown. She couldn't let Gendry see the tears that were threatening to run down her face, because that will be the end, but dry sobs were wrenching themselves into her throat and mingled with her gasps for breath.

"We're almost there," Arya panted out desperately, though she know it was a lie. "We're almost there."

But they were not almost there. They were no where. Arya was just pulling Gendry's body with her, dragging out his death in the most painful way possible. Why couldn't she just let him die peacefully? It would be so much easier, for both of them.

But she couldn't. Arya couldn't let him go. Not now, and not ever.

It was at that thought that the tears started to pour from her eyes, creating tracks in her sweat soaked face. Gendry's breathing became more shallow next to her, and she could feel him struggling to speak.

"It's..." He struggled out. "It's... Okay... Arya... It's all right..."

He was asking her to let him die. To give up. To let go.

"No!" Arya cried, her throat thick from exertion and sobbing. "No! It is not all right!"

She sniffed, snot running from her nose. She probably never looked worse, but it didn't matter in the darkness.

"I'm going to get you there!" Arya shouted madly. "We're going to make it!"

Gendry sagged slightly over her, and she could feel that he was slipping. He was struggling with all his might though, Arya could see it in his eyes as they slid in and out of focus, fluttering. He would hold on. For her. His last act for her.

She took another step forward, and then she saw it. A flash, a flash of darkness in the black. Something that doesn't shine against the feeble light of the moon. Something that doesn't belong to the forest.

Arya only had a second before she knew they were in trouble. And then it was too late.

There was a whistling noise, and then Gendry cried out and slumped to the ground, his weight striking her down with him.

"Gendry!" She screamed. "Gendry!"

Arya could hear the scuffles of whatever had attacked them closing in, but she didn't care. Gendry's breathing was slowing, his eyes closing. He was slipping away from her.

"GENDRY!"

Her scream echoed in the chaos as she clutched him, sobbing in earnest now. He wetted his lips, trying to speak as she choked and heaved. _Please no! Please!_

"No, no, no, no, no," she cried, her tears raining from her face falling on his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Arya, it's all right."

And then his eyes slid closed and his entire body stilled.

"NO!" Arya shrieked, grabbing at him madly. "GENDRY!"

And then, suddenly, she felt a shot of pain in her back. Blindly, Arya thought it must be the arrow, like the one that killed Gendry. As she knelt over, her mind numbly told her that arrows should hurt much, much more.

There was the sound of voices then, and dark figures were looming over her as her eyes began to blur.

"This one's still conscious," a voice grunted. "I'll have to give her another knock about the head."

"Be careful when you do," a familiar voice warned softly, and Arya froze, her entire body screaming in panic just before the blow rendered her unconscious. Because she knew that voice. She knew who it was that attacked them in the woods. _It was Hot Pie._

**Yes, yes, many things were left unsaid, but i promise all answers will soon be found. All next chapter (or I mean most I have no clue I haven't written it yet). Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry about the atrocious wait. I'm going away for two weeks and won't have any writing time, but I'll try to squeeze some time in when I get back!**


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